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UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA" 


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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

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AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

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This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
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BROKENBURNE 


A  SOUTHERN    AUNTIE'S  WAR  TALE 


BY 


VIRGINIA   FRAZER  BOYLE 


fSJSOJ 

1^7 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  \VM.  HENRY  WALKER 


NEW  YORK 

E.  R.  HERRICK  &  COMPANY 

1897 


Copyright,  i8g7. 
By  E.  R.  Herrick  &  Company. 


The  DeVinne  Press. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


Brokenburne  after  the  War      .     .     .      frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Uncle  Aaron  AND  THE  Hunting-Dogs  .  ...  13 
Aunt  Bene  Carding,  and  Telling  her  Story  .  .17 
Miss  Virginia  alone  with  her  Harp.      ...      23 

(>   "What  my  House  is,  I  is.     Go  I" 31 

(^  Family  in  the  Old  Piazza's  Sunlight      ...     41 

\     "Father,  I  Promise" ^3 

"Good-bye" 68 


9/3 

0  7? AS 


TO    MY    MOTHER 


BROKENBURNE. 


HE  autumn  afternoon  was  drawing 
swiftly  to  a  close.  The  sinking  sun 
glimpsed  lazily  through  the  endless 
grove  of  pine,  lighting  the  dark  re- 
cesses and  stretching  out  a  vista  like 
a  vast  enchanted  hall  of  colonnades. 

Along  the  beach  road  slowly  through  the  heavy 
sand  toiled  two  tired  travelers  on  horseback.  The 
one,  evidently  Southern  born,  was  cicerone  and 
guide,  and  was  revisiting  familiar  scenes  and  places 
after  a  long  absence.  The  other,  a  young  North- 
erner, was  making  a  tour  of  novelty  through,  to 
him,  a  hitherto  undiscovered  country. 

"Let  me  see,"  exclaimed  the  cicerone.  "The  old 
Balfour  place  must  be  about  here  somewhere.  I 
remember  it  as  a  child  before  we  moved  to  Ten- 
nessee.    Our  presence  at  that  gate   is  all  the  intro- 


Brokenbunie 


duction  we  need,  Frank.  I  have  heard  my  father 
speak  of  them  often.  Gentlefolks  of  the  old  school, 
chivalry  and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  they  were  hand- 
some entertainers  before  the  war." 

"Before  the  war!  —  everything  was  before  the 
war, —  not  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  so  and  so,  but 
before  or  after  the  war,  as  I  fancy  Noah's  people 
must  have  said  '  after  the  deluge  '  I  " 

"See,  this  must  be  the  road;  we  '11  risk  it 
at  any  rate,"  and  Clem  turned  sharply  into  a 
broad  untraveled  road  or  lane,  Frank  dreamily 
following. 

"  Yes,  there  is  the  place ! "  cried  Clem,  as  a 
massive  white  outline  rose  from  amongst  a  grove 
of  liveoak.  "  I  knew  that  my  childish  impressions 
would  not  deceive  me  I " 

The  place  was  a  typical  old  Southern  home  of 
which  it  had  been  said  that  the  latch-string  hung 
upon  the  outside  and  no  one  touched  it  twice  ere 
it  was  opened. 

Not  a  human  thing  seemed  astir;  over  the  arching 
gateway  the  rose-vines  swayed  in  the  evening  breeze, 
and  bee  and  butterfly  made  merry  amid  the  foli- 
age, loth  to  be  driven  from  Arcadia,  even  by  the 
coming    darkness.       Roses,    roses    everywhere;    the 


Brokenbiinte  3 

Marechal  Niel  laying  its  yellow  head  upon  the  breast 
of  the  wild  Cherokee,  the  rose  of  love  kissing  the 
pale  cheek  of  the  white  La  Marque.  Roses,  roses 
everywhere,  hiding  unsightly  gaps,  holding  up  the 
rotting  arch,  a  tribute  still  to  pride,  covering  up  the 
poverty  of  decaying  grandeur. 

"Things  have  gone  fearfully  to  rack  —  poor, 
proud  old  place,"  said  Clem,  regretfully,  as  the 
great  old  gate  swung  creaking  behind  them. 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  what  a  subject  for  a  painter  I " 
cried  Frank,  enthusiastically. 

"  What  a  subject  for  a  moralist  —  a  fatalist,  if  you 
will,"  said  the  other,  solemnly. 

Softly  the  old  knocker  was  lifted  and  dropped, 
waking  strange  echoes  in  the  hall  beyond. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  we  shall  spend  the  night  in  the 
woods,"  said  Clem,  ruefully ;  "  the  folks  must  all  be 
away,  and  have  been  gone  for  a  long  time  too,"  he 
added,  looking  upon  the  grass-grown  walk. 

"No,  no,  Clem,  only  your  dreamy  Southern  way  of 
doing  things  —  did  n't  I  tell  you  so?"  as  a  turbaned 
head  peered  from  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  ere 
a  small  black  figure  appeared,  bearing  in  her  hands 
an  enormous  bunch  of  keys. 

"  I  'se  sorry  I  ain't  hear  you  at  de  gate,"  she  said, 


Brokenbiirne 


in  evident  embarrassment,  nervously  smoothing  her 
snowy  apron  and  eyeing  keenly  the  faces  of  the 
young  men.  "  But  howsome-ebber,  I  gibs  de  wel- 
come er  de  place  ter  young  Marse's  gues's.  I  'se 
sorry  he  ain't  home  at  de  present,  but  maybe  you 
done  brung  me  er  word  fum  him,"  said  the  old 
woman,  making  as  though  she  would  unlock  the 
door,  but  still  delaying  the  action. 

Gradually  the  situation  was  explained  and  the 
Northern  friend  formally  introduced. 

"  I  'se  glad  ter  meet  your  frien',  sar,"  she  said,  fairly 
beaming  with  hospitality,  "but  you  don'  mean  ter 
say  dat  you  is  leetle  Clemmie,  Marse  Clem  Ledger- 
wood's  leetle  Clemmie  ?  I  means  you  was  when  I 
seed  you  las',"  as  the  great  brawny  man  smiled. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  Clemmie,"  said  he,  stretching  out  his 
long  tired  legs. 

"  Lord  I  don'  I  'member  Marse  Clem,  dough  I 
him  an'  ole  Marse  was  des  lack  brudders  I "  and, 
briskly  unlocked,  the  great  door  swung  wide.  "Up 
an'  maired  er  leetle  gal  in  ole  De  Soty  an'  fotch  her 
home,  all  unbeknownst  ter  anybody,  don't  I  'mem- 
ber I  "  Busily  she  dusted  the  stiff  old  damask  chairs 
and  opened  the  drawing-room  windows. 

Her  unexpected  visitors  remained  smoking  on  the 


Brokenburne 


verandah,  undecided,  undetermined  what  to  do,  cer- 
tainly not  feeling  very  comfortable.  Now,  flustered 
and  important,  the  old  woman  stood  in  the  door- 
way. "Ole  Bene  make  you  welcome  ter  Broken- 
burne. Hit  do  her  proud  ter  sarve  young  Marse's 
gues's." 

"  Is  the  family  away.  Aunt  Bene  1 "  ventured 
Clem,  anxious  for  information  without  displaying 
his  ignorance, 

"  Young  Marse  am  'way,  but  we  'spec's  him  home 
mos'  any  time, —  mought  be  here  ter-night,  maybe." 

"Where  is  Colonel  Balfour?" 

"  Ole  Marse  done  dead  an'  gone,  lo  I  dese  many 
years,"  she  said,  reverently. 

"And  the  Madame?" 

"  Dead  too." 

"There  was  a  daughter?" 

"Miss  Jinny, —  but  dar  hain't  nobody  lef  ter 
Brokenburne  but  young  Marse ;  we  'spec's  him  home 
mos'  any  time." 

"Uryl  Julel"  she  shouted,  awaking  to  a  sense  of 
hospitality  as  two  ragged  little  negroes  made  their 
appearance.  "  Take  de  gemmen's  bosses  roun'  ter  de 
stable,  an'  min'  you  feeds  an'  rubs  'em  well  too ! 
Marse    Clemmie   an'   young    Marse,   de   vally   show 


Brokenhiirne 


you  ter  your  rooms  ter-rectly,"  and  with  a  smile  and 
courtesy  she  was  gone. 

"  Clem,"  muttered  Frank,  watching  the  soft  blue 
veil  float  dreamily  from  his  fragrant  Havana,  "you 
don't  seem  to  know  any  more  about  the  present  than 
I  do." 

"No,  it  is  all  traditionary  with  me.  There  is  a 
mystery  about  it  I  wish  I  could  solve." 

"  Do  you  think  that  it  is  perfectly  safe  here  ? " 
queried  Frank,  rising  in  mock  alarm.  "  I  doubt  it  I  " 
as  a  thumping  sound  was  heard  at  the  other  end  of 
the  long  hall.  Slowly  through  the  dusk  it  came, 
nearer  and  nearer;  then  the  white-haired  figure  bowed 
so  low  it  raised  itself  with  difficulty. 

"  I  'nounce  de  tea  ter-rectly,  sar ;  sarve  you  ter  your 
rooms,  sar."  Poor  shadow  of  an  ebon  Chesterfield  I 
Thy  hospitable  memories  awake;  thy  poor  legs  feel 
the  nimble  impulse  of  courtly  servitude,  but  nature 
says  you  nay.  Thy  stock  and  waistcoat  both  well 
served  thy  master's  sire  in  his  time,  and  now  it  serveth 
thee  to  help  preserve  thy  house's  name  in  the  hour 
of  need  I 

"  I  'nounce  de  tea  shortly,  sar,  sarve  you  ter  your 


rooms,  sar  I " 


Who  else,  but  ole  Marse's  valet 


Brokenhiirne  7 

"  I  feel  like  a  child  with  too  much  of  fairy  stories," 
said  Frank,  laving  his  face  in  the  cool  soft  water; 
then  gazing  on  the  scene  of  old-time  elegance  around 
him,  "everything  in  its  place  as  though  it  were  used 
yesterday,  and  how  well  preserved,  enchanted,  as  it 
were." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  but  it  seems  odder  to  you 
than  to  me." 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  under  a  spell  too,"  laughed 
Frank,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  portrait  of  a  fair  young 
girl,  hanging  over  the  mantel. 

Again  the  echoing  "  thump,  thump,"  and  the  door 
was  flung  open  and  held  by  the  old  serving-man  in 
his  faded  livery. 

"  Tea  am  sarved  I "  he  announced  in  blandest 
tones,  with   another   stately   bow. 

"All  right,"  said  the  young  Southerner  as 
spokesman,  still  hesitating  to  accept  the  hospi- 
tality, to  eat  the  salt  of  a  man  under  such  circum- 
stances, mysterious  circumstances,  for  the  house 
evidently  had  not  been  in  general  use  for  a  number 
of  years. 

"  Will  you  show  us  down.  Uncle  — ?" 

"Aaron,  at  your  sarvice,  sari"  said  that  function- 
ary, with  great  unction. 


8  Brokenburne 


Once  in  the  broad  hall  old  Aaron  unbent  from  his 
rigid  formality  and  even  grew  garrulous. 

"  I  'se  powerful  'feared  you  git  lonesome  here, 
gemmen,  wid  de  young  Marse  'way,  but  we  'spec's 
him  home  mos'  any  day  now,  an'  we  makes  you 
welcome  ter  Brokenburne." 

"  Lack  ter  hunt  ?  "  he  inquired,  when  the  party 
had  expressed  their  thankful  appreciation. 

"  We  got  guns  an'  bosses.  Dey  putty  ole,  but  ole 
t'ings  is  de  bes',  'ca'se  dey  don'  mek  t'ings  now  as 
good  as  dey  usen  to ;  but  dorgs.  Lord  I  you  oughter 
see  our  dorgs,  —  whoopee!  —  de  breed  kin — "  but 
the  frowning  face  and  uplifted  finger  of  Bene  through 
the  dining-room  door  suddenly  checked  the  balmy 
flow  of  small  talk,  and  gravely  and  silently  he  bowed 
the  gentlemen  in  to  supper  —  a  supper  worthy,  how- 
ever, of  minute  description.  Above  the  dainty  dam- 
ask, wafting  faintly  the  lavender  and  rosemary  of  the 
linen-chest,  gleamed  the  exquisite  china  and  ancient 
service  of  the  Balfours,  awakening  from  their  long 
sleep  to  look  upon  the  massive  candelabra  and  to  re- 
flect a  myriad  of  sputtering  tallow  dips.  At  the  head 
of  the  oaken  table,  behind  the  silver  urn,  stood  the 
smiling  Bene.  There  was  country  hospitality  galore. 
Chicken,  fried  a  golden  brown,  big  fat  comfortable 


Brokenburne 


biscuit,  buttermilk  and  eggbread;  and  boyish  appe- 
tites, hesitating  no  longer,   "  set  to "  with  a  will. 

"  I  never  drank  such  coffee  as  this  before,"  ex- 
claimed Frank,  watching  the  fragrant  fluid  pouring 
for  the  second  or  third  time  upon  the  matchless 
cream. 

"  Maybe  you  wa'n't  borned  in  de  Souf,  honey  — 
dis  am  real  Soufern  coffee."  Aunt  Bene  smiled 
complacently.  "  Ole  Miss  hab  hit  on  her  table  des 
lack  dis  fur  forty  year  an'  nebber  fail  onct.  Lord  I 
ef  ole  Miss'  coffee  'pear  ter  fail,  um  I " — and  Aunt 
Bene  looked  around  nervously. 

"  I  'se  sorry,  gemmen,  powerful  sorry,  dey  hain't  no 
wine  in  de  cellar,"  said  Uncle  Aaron,  poising  his  silver 
waiter ;  "  leastways,  not  ter-night ;  de  war  dreen  ever' 
kaig  uv  'em,  but  young  Marse  done  order  some  fum 
N 'Orleans.     Maybe  hit  git  here  ter-morrer." 

Another  ominous  glance  from  Bene,  and,  being 
assured  that  it  was  not  needed,  Aaron  relapsed  into 
silence  again. 

"Aunt  Bene,"  said  Clem,  when  the  hearty  meal 
had  been  finished,  "  we  have  enjoyed  our  supper 
very  much;  we  shall  have  to  take  breakfast  with 
you,  and  we  want  to  do  our  part  of  the  providing." 

"  Lord,  young  Marse!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Bene,  re- 


lo  Brokenhiirne 


coiling  from  the  money  in  acute  distress  and  morti- 
fication, "  I  hain't  er-lettin'  lodgin's !  I  'sten'  ter 
young  Marse's  gues's  de  horsepitality  er  de  house 
while  he  erway;  you  is  young  Marse's  frien's  an' 
you  hain't  gwine  pay  nuffin'  here  ! " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Bene ;  I  did  n't  under- 
stand," said  Clem, —  an  apology  in  which  Frank 
joined. 

"  I  nebber  wuked  for  no  snack  house  in  all  my 
borned  days,"  said  Aaron,  bristling  for  the  honor  of 
the  house.  "  I  hain't  no  eye-sarvent !  Young  Marse 
here  ter-day  an'  gone  ter-morrow,  I  sarve  on  des  de 
same.  I  make  young  Marse's  gues's  comferble  twel 
he  come.  I  take  'em  ter  de  lodge,  I  shows  'em  de 
guns,  de  bosses,  de  dorgs.  Dat  breed  — ."  A  glance 
from  Bene  and  the  pedigree  was  never  told. 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  them  all  to-morrow,  Uncle 
Aaron,"  said   Frank. 

"  Will  de  gemmens  go  arter  breakfast,  er  rise  ter 
de  huntin'-horn  *?  "  asked  Uncle  Aaron,  with  an  im- 
pressive bow. 

"  By  the  horn,  by  all  means,"  assented  both. 

Good-nights  were  exchanged,  and  the  echoing 
thump  preceded  them  to  their  chamber.  At  the 
door  Aaron  paused,  looked  anxiously  around,  then 


Brokenbiirne  1 1 


whispered  in  Clem's  ear:   "De  breed  er  dem  dorgs 
is  powerful." 

There  was  a  faint  mustiness  in  the  snowy  bed- 
clothing  they  drew  about  them,  hardly  the  odor  of 
decay,  but  an  atmosphere  of  ancient  elegance. 
What  busy  head  and  hands  had  superintended  the 
stitching  of  those  dainty  hems,  the  weaving  of  those 
fabrics,  old,  most  likely,  ere  these  their  guests  were 
born '? 

Hardly  had  they  slept,  they  thought,  when  the 
winding  of  the  hunter's  horn  broke  on  their  hearty 
slumbers. 

"Clem,"  cried  Frank,  "am  I  dreaming?  Have  I 
dropped  into  the  romance  of  a  Scottish  tale  *?  Am 
I  summoned  to  an  English  meet  *?  Am  I  in  an  en- 
chanted wood?  Or  has  old  Aaron  just  hoodooed 
me?" 

"  You  are  in  for  it  now ;  you  had  better  go  and 
see,"  laughed  the  other.  "But  Frank,"  he  added 
seriously,  "don't  laugh  at  anything  that  we  may 
see  or  hear,  however  ridiculous  it  may  appear;  these 
circumstances  are  really  mysterious  and  pathetic. 
We  must  try  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this  for  the 
sake  of  the  old  friendship,  and  see  if  anything  can 
be  done." 


12  Brokenhirne 


Again  the  winding  horn,  and  old  Aaron  in  full 
regalia,  to  which  he  had  added  a  battered  plug  hat, 
stood  at  the  great  door,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of 
yelping,  whining  curs. 

"  Down  Pluto  I  Down  Phisto  I  "  he  cried,  popping 
at  them  with  a  tiny  hazel  switch. 

"  Did  n't  t'ink,  gemmen,  as  how  you  mought  want 
ter  go  huntin'  dis  mornin',"  he  said,  apologetically. 
"  But  we  mought  make  ready  fur  ter-morrer." 

Frank  and  Clem,  remembering  their  compact, 
repressed  in  vain  the  desire  to  laugh. 

"Glad  ter  fin'  you  so  peart  an'  lackly  dis  mornin', 
gemmen.  Good  sleep  am  er  mighty  good  t'ing," 
said  Uncle  Aaron,  joining  good-naturedly  in  the 
laugh.  "  I  did  n't  'ten'  de  huntin'  in  ole  Marse's 
time,  Jim  do ;  I  b'long  ter  de  house,  but  ole  Aaron 
do  his  bestes'  fur  young  Marse's  gues's.  Haw  I 
haw ! " 

"  We  mos'ly  rin  rabbits  dese  days.  Now  Pluto 
he  de  bestes'  rabbit  dorg,  but  he  ain't  no  quality  dorg; 
he  des  my  dorg,  nigger  dorg." 

The  lodge  was  a  kind  of  office,  single  story,  con- 
taining one  room,  such  as  was  built  in  antebellum 
times  on  each  side  of  the  dwelling-house,  and  was 
prepared  for  the  reception  of  male  visitors,  who  were 


h4&-' 


-4> 


w^ 


^ 


H 


Xo-v^^AAi-^JJKiu.    S^ 


Brokeuburne  13 

wont  to  flock,  in  great  numbers  for  hunting  and 
holiday. 

"  Here  am  de  guns  an'  de  saddles,"  said  old  Aaron, 
unlocking  the  door.  "  Hain't  hab  no  huntin'  in  er 
duration,  leastways  not  sence  de  war;  do  need  ilein' 
an'  sech  putty  bad,"  as  he  ruefully  peered  down  a 
rusty  barrel  after  vainly  trying  to  raise  the  hammer. 

"Gwine  w'ar  dat  Jim  plum  inter  er  frazzle,"  he 
added,  hotly.  (Jim  had  been  dead  of  old  age  these 
ten  years  gone.)  "  Young  Marse  kim  home  maybe 
ter-day,  an'  won't  dar  be  er  row  I " 

Being  assured  that  they  really  did  not  care  to  hunt 
that  day.  Uncle  Aaron  then  led  them  to  examine  the 
saddles.  Here  was  the  lumbering  one  of  the  father, 
of  ancient  make,  as  mouldy  as  the  grave;  the  lighter 
one  of  his  hunter  son ;  the  remnant  of  one,  tiny  and 
dainty,  into  which  had  probably  sprung  the  light 
form  of  the  young  Virginia;  here,  too,  were  spurs  of 
silver,  steel,  and  brass. 

"Hain't  no  use  tryin'  ter  do  nuffin'  wid  Jim," 
grunted  Aaron  in  much  mortification.  "Young 
Marse  kim  dough,  an'  whoop  him  up,  maybe  ter- 
day.  Young  Marse  mighty  keerful  an'  mighty  rich," 
he  added.  "See  all  dat  ar  Ian'?  — all  dat  young 
Marse's." 


14  Brokenburne 

"  How  many  acres  have  you,  Uncle  Aaron  ? " 
asked  Frank.  Uncle  Aaron  scratched  his  head. 
"  Well,  I  don'  know,  sar,  perzackly,  sar,  but  dar  's 
powerful  many ! " 

Poor  proud  Aaron  I  he  forgot  to  tell  that  the  main 
part  of  the  land  had  long  been  sold  for  taxes,  that 
the  tax  on  the  home  had  been  paid  by  the  honest, 
earnest  endeavors  of  Bene  and  himself,  against  young 
Marse's  final  home-coming. 

"  Now  I  gwine  show  you  er  quality  dorg." 
Through  the  broad  yard  limped  Aaron  toward  the 
dilapidated  stables,  followed  by  the  young  men, 
upon  whom  the  full  pathos  of  the  situation  had  not 
yet  dawned. 

"  Prince  I  h-e-r-e,  Prince ! "  called  Aaron,  but  no 
response.  "  He  er  leetle  deef,  gemmen,  but  mighty 
peart." 

Around  the  corner  of  the  stable  came  a  feeble 
whine,  and  a  pair  of  deer  hounds,  magnificent  in 
their  prime,  now  sightless  and  toothless,  fawned  upon 
another  Caleb  Balderstone. 

Clem's  eyes  filled;  the  warm  Southern  heart  was 
touched.  He  could  understand  the  devastation  that 
the  other  knew  not  of 

"  Hain't   dey  beauties,  sar  ?  "  and  Aaron  fondled 


Brokenbiirne  15 

the  shapely  heads.  "  Dey  's  er  leetle  deef,  an'  maybe 
er  leetle  blin',  and  dey  's  ole;  young  Marse  gwine 
sen'  ernudder  pack,  maybe  ter-day,  'ca'se  he  hatter  hab 
his  dorgs,  but  Lord  1  sar,  de  breed  er  dese  is  powerful  I  " 

In  like  manner  and  with  like  results  the  stables 
were  viewed,  poor  old  Aaron  in  his  eager  recital  fail- 
ing to  see  the  moved  expression  upon  the  faces  of 
both  the  young  men. 

"Here,  gemmen,"  said  he,  trembling  with  the 
greatness  of  his  information,  "  I  shows  you  er  boss 
dat  young  Marse  excused  twenty  t'ousan'  dollar 
furl  Nebber  been  plowed  er  worked  in  his  life; 
borned  and  bred  in  Kaintuck  he  was  I " 

"When?"  asked  Frank,  his  irrepressible  humor 
getting  the  better  of  him.  "  Maybe  I  would  like  to 
buy  him." 

"Lord,  honey!"  cried  the  horror-stricken  Aaron. 
"  Bin  km  .<?  I  don'  know  when  he  kim,  sar,  but  de 
money  hain't  digged  dat  '11  buy  dat  boss !  Did  n't 
he  beat  Misser  Tripp's  Blue  Jim  an'  take  de  blue 
ribbon  on  all  de  stakes  five  year  come  Christmas 
'fore  de  breakin'  out  er  de  war?  Money  could  n't 
buy  dat  boss,  sari" 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Tripp  now  ?  "  queried  Frank. 

"  Dead." 


i6  Brokenburne 


"  And  Blue  Jim  ?  " 

"  Dead  too,"  said  Jack,  reverently,  taking  off  his 
hat  out  of  respect  to  the  racing  qualities  of  the  horse, 
rather  than  to  the  nobility  of  the  master. 

The  sound  of  the  breakfast  bell  fell  pleasantly 
upon  the  youthful  ears,  half  glad  yet  half  reluctant 
to  be  rid  of  the  painful  recital,  the  struggle  of  the 
old  Southern  pride,  which  descended  as  a  legacy  to 
the  old  slave  along  with  his  master's  old  clothes. 

"Don'  you  min'  what  Bene  say;  Bene  sorter 
soured,"  and  Aaron  brought  up  the  rear,  followed  by 
the  whinneying  old  horse,  now  in  a  lamentable  state 
of  equine  dotage. 

The  hearty  breakfast  over,  preparations  were  made 
for  a  speedy  departure,  in  spite  of  old  Aaron's  plead- 
ings to  "  des  stop  twel  young  Marse  kim  home,  he 
sho'  be  home  soon,"  when  the  lowering  cloud  that 
had  threatened  throughout  the  early  morning  broke 
forth  in  watery  wrath.  Of  course  travel  was  not  pos- 
sible, and  not  half  sorry,  the  travelers  turned  into 
the  house,  much  to  the  joy  of  old  Aaron  and  the  hos- 
pitable Bene. 

Having  the  privilege  of  the  house,  they  roamed 
through  the  great  rooms  like  restless  spirits.  Here 
were    old    pieces   of  furniture,   a    harp   of  exquisite 


Brokenburne  17 

workmanship  among  them,  rare  and  quaint  enough 
to  run  an  "antique  maniac"  wild.  There  were  por- 
traits and  unfinished  pieces  of  woman's  handiwork, 
about  which  were  many  theories  and  conjectures. 

But  alas!  even  Paradise  shut  in  would  become 
wearisome  to  a  man  on  a  rainy  day,  and  soon  the 
mystery  and  silence  palled  upon  them. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,"  said 
Clem,  dreamily  running  his  fingers  over  the  keys  of 
the  rattling  old  piano. 

"Do  it;  ask  the  old  auntie,"  said  the  practical 
Frank.  "  Providence  has  laid  the  story  right  to 
your  ears,  and  you  are  too  Southern  to  take  advan- 
tage of  it,"  he  said,  laughing. 

So  old  Bene  was  sought  and  traced  through  the 
dining-room,  corridors,  kitchen,  and,  her  morning 
labor  over,  finally  found  peacefully  carding  in  her 
cabin. 

"I  makes  young  Marse's  gues's  welcome  ter  my 
po'  house,"  she  said  hastily  rising  in  confusion. 
"You  did  n'  git  lonesome  in  de  big  house  by  your- 
se'fs,  did  you  ?  "  she  queried  kindly,  peeping  over 
her  great  brass  spectacles. 

"Well,  yes,  we  did,"  said  Clem,  smiling,  "and  we 
thought  that  we  would  look  you  up." 


1 8  Brokenhiirne 


"  Hit  's  been  er  long  time  sence  de  young  folkes 
kim  ter  ole  Bene's  cabin,  —  my  kin'er  folkes,  I  mean," 
she  added  quickly. 

"  I  uster  tell  young  Marse  tales,  settin'  right  here 
in  dis  ole  hick'ry  cheer,  many  's  de  time,  many  's  de 
time ! " 

"  Suppose  you  tell  us  one,  Aunt  Bene,"  said  Frank. 

"  Lord,  Lord,  he  were  er  baby  den  I "  laughed 
Bene.  "  Dat  were  'fore  we  hab  any  'flictions,  er  war, 
er  trouble  er  nufRn'.  Dat  war  hit  were  de  beginnin' 
uv  hit.  Hit  bruk  up  lots  er  de  quality  people  an 
sot  de  niggers  free,  but  hit  nebber  done  no  good,  fur 
hit  kilt  some  mighty  good  white  folkes.  Dey  was  des 
high  quality  an'  could  n'  stan'  hit,  an'  dey  hain't  no 
nigger  libin',  leastways,  I  dun  know  none,  dat  wa'n't 
better  off  bond  dan  free.  But  I  'se  ole  an'  po';  I  dun 
know  nuffin',"  she  added  cautiously. 

"  How  did  it  begin.  Aunt  Bene '? "  asked  Clem, 
beguiling  her  into  unwariness. 

"  Ole  Marse  were  dat  high  quality,  an'  Aaron,  dat 
po'  ole  worfless  nigger  Aaron,  you  would  n'  b'leeve  hit, 
young  Marse,  but  he  des  lack  him.  He  I  he  I  OhI 
my  law  !  When  I  maired  Aaron,  he  were  des  so  lack 
ole  Marse,  you  could  n'  er  tole  'em,  'cepin'  Aaron  were 
black.     Dat  nigger  been  er-mawkin'  uv  ole  Marse 


Brokenbiirne  19 

sence  he  were  free  year  ole:  he  walk  lack  him,  he 
talk  lack  him,  'cepin'  Aaron  talk  nigger  an'  ole  Marse 
talk  quality,  an'  he  'clar'  he  thote  perzackly  lack  ole 
Marse." 

"  Well,  how  did  it  begin,  the  war  and  the  trouble, 
you  know,"  asked  Frank,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  Well,  dat  's  hit,"  said  Bene,  lowering  her  voice. 
"Dat  Aaron  he  do  be  so  lack  ole  Marse,  an'  ole 
Marse  he  keep  hisse'f  ter  hisse'f,  an'  Aaron  say  dat  er 
'oman  am  er  power  ter  talk,  an'  he  try  so  hard  fur  ter 
make  t'ings  lack  dey  uster  was." 

"But  I  am  a  friend  of  the  family,  as  my  father 
was,  and  I  should  like  so  much  to  know  something 
of  them,"  said  Clem  with  a  quiver  in  his  voice. 

"  I  hain't  no  han'  ter  talk  'bout  fambly  'fairs,  'ca'se 
how  I  lub  'em  Gord  he  know  I "  and  the  old  voice 
trembled.  "  But  maybe  I  kin  talk  ter  dey  frien's,  an' 
maybe  dey  frien's  kin  tell  me  'bout  young  Marse. 
We  's  er-watchin'  an'  er-waitin'  fur  him,  but  we  cain't 
make  t'ings  lack  dey  uster  was  I " 

Old  Bene  wiped  her  eyes  and  looked  long  and 
silently  into  the  fire,  and  she  was  not  interrupted. 

We  was  er  mighty  happy  fambly  here,  mighty 
happy.     Dar  were  ole  Marse  an'  ole  Miss  an'  young 


20  Brokenburne 


Marse  an'  Miss  Jinny  who  were  de  baby,  an'  all  de 
niggers.  Niggers  I  Why,  honey,  dar  was  er  hundud 
ter  wait  on  ever'  member  er  de  fambly,  an'  er  whole 
passel  lef'  ober! 

Well,  we  was  all  mighty  happy.  Ole  Miss  say 
sometime  dat  we  mos'  too  happy,  dat  de  Lord  lettin' 
we-all  eat  de  white  loaf  now,  dat  we  all  mought  pay 
mo'  'tention  ter  dem  wha'  eaten  dey  ashcake  wid  dey 
tears.  Ole  Miss  she  were  high  up,  make  er  de  fines' 
er  de  yeth,  des  bar'ly  tech  her  foot  ter  de  groun'  fur 
er  res'in'-place ;  but  ole  Marse  an'  we-all  don'  pay 
no  'tention,  we  des  happy,  dat  all. 

Young  Marse,  he  were  han'some  an'  brave  an'  des 
es  strong !  an'  Miss  Jinny,  bress  her  baby  heart  I  — 
fur  she  were  my  baby, —  her  were  des  beau'ful  I 

Young  Marse,  he  were  fair  lack  he  Maw,  an'  he 
done  growed  er  leetle  mushtache  wid  er  leetle  red  in 
hit,  got  de  sperrit  uv  he  Maw.  But  Miss  Jinny, — 
Gord  lub  her!  —  she  lack  her  Paw,  so  lovin',  so  sof', 
so  good  ter  ever't'ing,  wid  her  long  brown  curls  dat 
git  dey  red  fum  de  sun,  an'  big  brown  eyes  lack 
her  ha'r,  dat  makes  you  mos'  cry  when  you  looks 
in  'em. 

When  she  leetle,  she  alius  comin'  ter  me,  an' 
"Mammy,"  she  say,  "what  I  do  wid  dis  po'  mouse 


Brokenburiie  2 1 


dat  break  his  laig  in  de  trap?"  An'  "Mammy," 
she  say,  "  Ole  Puss  des  whup  dis  kitten  'ca'se  hit 
ugly  an'  po'  I  " —  an'  she  make  er  funul  fur  de  mouse, 
an'  cry  her  putty  eyes  red  an'  nuss  dat  ole  po'  cat, 
twel  she  make  me  mos'  crazy.  She  alius  gibin' 
close  ter  de  leetle  niggers,  an'  ever'  pickaninny  on 
de  place  follers  her  lack  er  dorg,  twel  I  hatter  beat 
'em  off.  She  say,  "  Mammy,  dey  needs  dis,  an' 
Mammy,  dey  needs  dat,"  an'  one  Christmas  she 
goes  ter  town  wid  her  Maw  an'  ups  an'  buys  ever' 
pickaninny  uv  'em  er  fine  white  cambric  hankercher. 

Well,  I  watches  her  grow  ter  be  mos'  er  'oman, 
an'  I  lubs  ever'  bone  in  her  body,  but  I  oneasy  in  my 
min'  'bout  her,  'ca'se  dar  was  cu'i's  t'ings  happin  w'en 
her  was  horned. 

Ole  Miss  she  were  sech  er  high  flyer,  an'  hab  so 
much  comp'ny  an'  were  so  busy,  dat  we  ain'  bodder 
her  wid  de  leetle  troubles  er-growin',  but  we  des  let 
her  show  us  off,  an'  she  dat  proud,  Lordy  I  So  I 
were  er  mudder  ter  her,  er  mudder  lack  po'  white 
chillun  hab,  wha'  got  time  ter  lis'en  ter  'em  laugh  an' 
hear  'em  cry  too,  an'  hain't  got  no  larnin'  ter  talk 
erbout. 

Miss  Jinny  she  wa'n't  ebber  stout,  an'  hit  'pear  lack 
de  harder  we  lubs  her  an'  de  mo'  we  ties  on  ter  her. 


22  Brokenburne 


de  mo'  lack  er  piece  er  fine  chiny  she  git.  Ole 
^larse's  eyes  dey  fills  when  he  look  at  her  an'  he  call 
her  he  "  Sunbeam,"  but  ole  Miss  she  makin'  ready 
fur  ter  make  er  fine  lady  uv  her,  'ca'se  she  putty  nigh 
growed. 

Dey  hain't  no  mo'  leetle  apuns  fur  Mammy  ter 
button,  er  leetle  white  toes  fur  Mammy  ter  tie  up, 
'ca'se  de  Baby  don'  go  b'arfooted  no  mo'. 

Well,  one  summer  young  Marse  kim  home  fum 
college  an'  fotch  he  mate,  wha'  were  young  Marse 
Philip  Le  Grand,  an'  lib  nigh  here,  an'  dat  done  de 
t'ing  fur  we-all.  Ole  Marse  he  don'  lack  hit,  but  he 
sorter  laugh  an'  say  sumpen  'bout  "  puppy  lub," — 
dat  all. 

Den  anudder  summer  he  kim  home  wid  young 
Marse  an'  when  he  lef  he  caired  one  er  de  Baby's 
long  curls  wid  him,  an'  dey  writ, — 'ca'se  she  read  dem 
letters  ter  her  ole  Mammy. 

He  were  des  er-lubin'  her  es  hard  es  ebber  he 
could,  an'  de  putty  color  kim  er-creepin'  an'  creepin' 
up,  an'  dem  long  lashes  would  drap,  when  she  came 
ter  dat  putty  white  folkes'  lub  talk. 

He  were  smart  an'  he  were  rich  an'  he  writ  lack  er 
man.  He  were  han'some  es  er  pictur,  too,  but  I 
lacks  er  eye  dat  you  kin  look  plum  frough,  an'  see 


Brokenbunie  23 

de  Gord's  truf  at  de  bottom,  an'  Marse  Phil  hain't  got 
dat  eye ;  maybe  hit  were  de  furrin  blood,  but  I  hain't 
unnerstan'  him. 

I  set  wid  de  Baby  ever'  night  an'  comb  out  de 
long  curls  fur  her,  'ca'se  she  won't  let  anybody  do  hit 
but  her  Mammy;  an'  she  shet  de  do'  an'  take  er  pic- 
tur  turn  roun'  her  nake,  an'  look  at  hit  fur  er  long 
time,  whilst  I  er-combin'  out  de  curls.  Den  she  take 
dis  ole  chin  twixt  her  putty  white  fingers  an'  say, 
"  Mammy,  hain't  he  manly,  hain't  he  han'some,  hain't 
he  brave  *?  Dar  nuffin'  on  dis  yeth  dat  he  would  n' 
do  fur  your  Baby  I "  Den  she  bring  her  face  nigher 
an'  she  whisper,  "An'  I  gwine  be  his  leetle  wife  some 
day."  Den  she  say,  "Mammy,  does  you  lub  him? 
Say  you  lubs  him  des  er  leetle.  Mammy,  now 
Mammy,  please  Mammy  I"  an'  she  tease  me  so,  I 
hatter  say  I  lubs  him  des  er  leetle,  dough  de  Marster 
furgibe  me  fur  de  lie  den  I 

"  T'ings  is  gittin'  on  mighty  fas',  "  I  says  ter  myse'f^ 
says  I,  fur  de  Baby  ride  ever'  day  ter  de  pos'-orfice 
herse'f,  an'  when  she  git  er  letter  she  sing  all  day,  an' 
when  one  ain't  come,  she  go  by  herse'f  an'  play  an' 
play  on  de  harp  twel  hit  des  talk  an'  moan  out'n 
sorrer. 

Bein'  as  how  I  were  de  mudder,  I  feels  I  has  er 


24  Brokenbunie 

call  ter  up  an'  'suit  wid  ole  Miss.  Ole  Miss  she  set 
proud  lack  an'  'pear  lack  she  git  sorter  mad;  hearts 
an'  sech  lack  yethly  t'ings  were  'way  down  unner  ole 
Miss's  foot.  An'  she  say,  "Bene,  you  alius  worryin' 
dat  chile  an'  yourse'f,  too,  'bout  sumpen  ruther. 
Course  people  gwine  lub  my  chile,  in  course  many 
luvyers  gwine  seek  her,  an'  when  de  time  come,  she 
make  er  mairge  ter  er  'vantage,  dat  's  fitten  ter  her 
birf.  You  let  her  'lone,  dis  des  er  notion.  All  young 
gals  do  dat  way,  but  hit  w'ar  off.  My  darter  hain't 
ebber  mairey  er  Le  Grand  I  " 

I  hain't  got  no  call  ter  say  no  mo',  'ca'se  I  don' 
wanter  bodder  ole  Marse. 

Den  kim  times  dat  you  don'  know  nuffin'  'bout, 
young  Marse,  when  war  hanged  ober  us  lack  er  big 
brack  cloud  dat  would  n'  bust,  an'  would  n'  cl'ar  yit, 
but  des  grumble  an'  grumble  an'  growl  an'  growl. 
Some  folkes  did  n'  b'leeve  we  gwine  hab  hit,  but 
laugh  lack  dey  laugh  in  Farder  Noey's  time ;  hit 
kim  dough,  an'  de  mos'  uv   us  did  n'  hab  no  ark. 

Well,  ole  Marse  were  one  er  dem  dat  did  n' 
t'ink  war  were  comin'.  He  say  hit  were  'posterous 
ter  cornsider. 

Old  Miss  git  up  what  dey  calls  de  Cabillear 
blood,  de  blood  dey  nebber  whup  an'  de  blood  dat 


Brokenbiirne  25 

nebber  holler,  an'  she  say,  "  In  course  dey  be  no  war. 
In  course  dey  gib  in  ter  de  Rights  er  de  States ;  dey 
gotter  do  hit,  'ca'se  hit  's  right,  an'  Gord  on  de  side 
er  de  right,  an'  He  gwine  pervail  'gin  de  swords  er 
de  onrighteous." 

But  young  Marse  he  t'ink  diffunt,  an'  he  kim 
home  turn  college  widout  de  leabe  er  he  Paw.  Hit 
make  ole  Marse  plum  mad,  an'  he  swar'  he  sen'  him 
back,  an'  he  r'ar'  an'  charge  'roun'  ginnerly. 

Ole  Marse  he  were  er  Ole  Line  Whig,  er  sumpen, 
an'  he  say  dat  we  all  one  country,  dat  gemmen  set- 
tle 'litical  p'ints  in  er  'litical  way;  dat  Jeff  Davis  an" 
dem  silber  talkin'  fellers  on  bote  sides  gwine  fix  hit; 
dat  only  pussonel  honor  am  settled  wid  de  drawin' 
er  swords  an'  de  spillin'  er  blood. 

But  young  Marse  he  were  he  own  marster  now, 
an'  dey  'suit  in  de  drawin'-room  an'  argufy  at  de 
table,  twel  hit  make  ever't'ing  plum  oncomferble. 

Bimeby,  dough,  ole  Marse  sorter  gib  in,  'ca'se  he 
say  fur  de  honor  er  ole  Massysip  dat  he  hatter  go 
wid  his  State,  whichebber  way  she  go,  an'  she  go  out. 

My  I  de  carryin'-on  dem  young  folkes  hab,  wid 
de  formin'  er  de  comp'nies,  an'  de  sewin'  er  de  flags 
an'  de  makin'  er  de  gray  coats.  De  man  tailors  cain't 
sew  fas'  ernough,  so  de  'omans,  dat  ain't  nebber  did 


26  Brokenhurne 


nuffin'  in  dey  lives  try  dey  ban's,  an'  Miss  Jinny 
were  plum  up  wid  any  uv  'em.  She  all  'cited  lack, 
an'  trimble  an'  say :  "  Mammy  dis,  an'  Mammy  dat," 
lack  she  uster  when  she  were  leetle. 

How  my  Baby  watch  fur  Marse  Phil  ter  come 
fum  college,  an'  how  glad  she  were  when  he  kim  I 

Marse  Phil,  he  sorter  quiet  lack,  an'  ain't  lack  de 
odders;  but  de  Baby  she  so  yearnes'  she  don'  see  hit, 
an'  she  say  she  make  him  de  gray  coat  herse'f  fur 
him  ter  go  out  in, —  my  Baby,  dat  nebber  eben  hem 
er  pocket  hankercher  I 

Well,  dey  hoi'  all  dey  meetin's  an'  goodbyin's  in 
ole  Miss's  drawin'-room,  an'  ole  Marse  he  stomp 
roun'  wid  de  bes'  uv  'em,  an'  gib  so  many  bosses  an' 
'quip  so  many  comp'nies,  dat  we  all  feared  he  bruk 
hese'f 

Miss  Jinny  wa'n't  no  flirt,  but  ter  some  uv  'em  she 
gib  her  blessin',  an'  ter  odders  uv  'em  she  gib  er 
piece  er  de  putty  brown  curls,  fur  she  want  'em  ter 
go  out  fur  dey  principuls,  an'  ef  dey  ain't  fight  for 
de?n,  ter  fight  fur  her,  'ca'se  de  cause  hern,  an'  she 
say  so. 

Dey  all  looks  mighty  scrumptious  at  Marse  Phil 
when  dey  leabe  him  behin',  fur  Marse  Phil  ain't  go 
out  yit,  dough  de  gray  coat  done   been  done  time 


Brokeiibiinie  27 

out'n  reason.  He  set  in  de  drawin'-room  twel  ole 
Marse  done  git  plum  out'n  patience ;  an'  walk  an' 
talk  wid  Miss  Jinny  unner  de  live-oaks . 

She  mighty  oneasy  in  her  min'  'bout  him,  an' 
sometime  she  look  mighty  pitiful  at  him  out'n  dem 
big  sof'  eyes.  She  ain't  say  nuffin'  yit,  not  eben  ter 
her  Mammy,  'ca'se  she  dat  proud,  'ca'se  she  got  de 
Cabillear  blood.  But  in  de  middle  er  de  night,  I 
hears  her  moan  an'  cry  sof'  ter  herse'f, —  I  alius  sleeps 
in  de  Baby's  room  ebber  sence  she  were  borned. 
Den  I  calls  ter  her,  an'  I  say,  "  What  de  matter, 
honey?"  an'  she  say  so  sof',  "  I  des  been  er-dreamin'; 
go  ter  sleep.  Mammy." 

One  day  ole  Marse  git  mad  an'  cuss  an'  say 
'sumpen  'bout  "cowards";  de  Baby  git  up  quick  an' 
leabe  de  table,  but  I  ain't  foller,  'ca'se  I  know  sumpen 
hu'tin'  uv  her  heart,  dat  she  don'  wanter  tell  eben  ter 
her  Mammy. 

De  boys  writ  ter  us,  an'  we  all  powerful  proud, 
an'  ole  Miss  hoi'  her  head  higher'n  ebber.  Ole  Miss 
all  head  an'  no  heart;  mus'  er  los'  dat  heart  somers 
an'  ain't  fin'  hit  no  mo',  so  she  cain't  tell  nuffin'  'bout 
de  Baby. 

I  knows  dat  trouble  kimmin'  ter  her,  an'  I  prays 
'bout  hit  all  unbeknownst;  an'  hit  kim  all  uv  er  heap. 


28  Brokenbiirne 


I  was  er-settin'  'hine  de  sweet  shrub  at  de  aige  er 
de  big  porch,  er-knittin'  erway  fur  dear  life,  when 
jSIarse  Phil  an'  de  Baby  kim  walkin'  slow  lack  out 
on  de  porch.  I  did  n'  'low  ter  stay,  but  I  could  n' 
git  out,  'douten  dey  sees  me,  an'  hit  'pear  lack  dey  go 
in  ever'  minute,  so  I  des  sot  an'  wait. 

Marse  Phil's  face  des  es  white  es  er  sheet,  an'  his 
eyes  des  es  hard  an'  brack.  I  cain't  see  de  Baby's 
face  fur  he  stan'  facin'  uv  her,  an'  he  measure  his 
words  slow  an'  keerful,  an'  he  says,  "Furginia,"  says 
he,  "  you  has  been  er-waitin'  an'  er-wantin'  fur  me  ter 
go  out  fur  er  long  time;  you  has  worked  fur  hit,  an' 
has  pricked  your  putty  fingers  fur  hit,  but  I  has 
waited  —  why,  you  is  soon  gwine  fur  ter  know. 
Now  I  'se  gwine  out."  He  stop,  an'  I  know  by  de 
way  de  Baby  set  back  dat  leetle  head  er  hern  dat 
she  proud  an'  she  glad. 

Den  he  cl'ar  he  thote  onct  er  twict,  an'  de  Baby 
she  say,  "  Well  *?  "  so  sof  an'  sweet. 

Den  he  voice  sorter  shake  an'  he  say,  "  Furginia, 
I  lubs  you  better  dan  anyt'ing  on  dis  yeth;  I  'd  die 
fur  you,  an'  I  libs  o'ny  fur  you.  All  dat  good  in 
me,  all  I  is,  an'  all  I  hopes  ter  be,  I  owes  ter  you,  an' 
ter  your  lub  fur  me,  an'  I  'se  gwine  out,  kH  I  cain't 
go  out  on  de  side  er  de  gray  I  " 


Brokenbunie  29 

I  see  Miss  Jinny  trimble  quick,  an'  sof'  lack  de 
leabes  on  de  Lombardy  poplar,  all  tergedder. 

Den  she  say,  proud  lack:  "Phil,  de  time  fur  jest- 
in'  an'  jokin'  am  pas',  don'  tease  me  now ;  I  cain't 
b'ar  hit!" 

Den  he  say,  "I  ain't  jokin',  Furginia  I  Gord  knows 
dat  I  'se  lack  ter  please  you,  but  my  principuls  am 
all  on  de  odder  side.  We  differs  in  politics,  but 
is  one  in  lub,  Furginia ;  fur  er  man  hatter  'sert  his 
manhood,  but  er  'oman  hain't  no  call  in  'litical 
p'ints,  hit  hain't  bercomin'  ter  her!" 

I  see  Miss  Jinny  ketch  at  de  roses  in  her  belt, — 
she  alius  wear  'em, — and  squiz  em  in  her  han',  an' 
speak  quick  an'  fas' : 

"  When  her  State  hab  'clared  hitse'f,  when  her 
house  hab  'clared  hitse'f,  when  her  brudder  an'  her 
kinsmen  hab  gone  out  on  dat  side  1  What  does  you 
mean,  Phil?"  an'  de  Baby  breave  short,  lack  hit 
hu't  her. 

Marse  Phil's  face  git  whiter  an'  whiter,  but  he 
speak  out  cl'ar  an'  steddy.  "  I  means,  my  darlin',  dat 
you  is  mine,  dat  I  won't  gib  you  up,  not  fur  coun- 
try, not  fur  State,  not  fur  de  grandes'  name  dat  ebber 
crown  de  grandes'  man,  but  I  cain't  go  out  on  de  side 
er  de  gray  I  " 


30  Brokenburne 

Dey  looks  one  nudder  in  de  face  lack  dey  tryin' 
ter  read  what  was  writ  on  de  odder's  soul.  Den  I 
hears  er  soun'  an'  I  looks  out,  fur  I  t'inks  er  pattridge 
feel  er  bullet  in  her  heart,  an'  gib  er  cry  fur  de  leetle 
ones,  but  I  ain't  see  no  smoke.  'Pear  lack  er  white 
dove  fum  de  cote,  wid  blood  on  her  breas',  done  gib 
de  def-cry,  but  dar  wa'n't  no  dove  dar.  Lord  Gord ! 
hit  were  my  Baby,  hit  were  her  heart ! 

But  dat  Cabillear  blood  gwine  tell,  an'  she  straighten 
herse'f  up  proud  lack,  my  po'  Baby,  an'  she  say, 
"Phil,  does  you  mean  what  you  has  said?"  an'  he 
say  slow  an'  solemn,  lack  't  were  in  church,  "As 
Gord  am  my  witness,  I  does  I " 

Hit  min'  me  ever'  word  lack  de  pins  dey  sticks  in 
fur  ter  hoi'  de  wings  uv  er  big,  bright  butterfly,  an' 
I  sees  hit  flutter  an'  flutter,  so  pitiful  lack,  but  dey 
goes  on  stickin'  de  pins.  I  wanter  say  sumpen,  I  wants 
ter  tell  'em, —  dey's  er-breakin'  er  dey  hearts  lack  dey 
was  saucers  an'  teacups  'ca'se  dar  were  war  in  de  Ian' 
an'  dey  differ,  but  I  wa'n't  nuffin'  but  er  po'  ole  nigger 
ef  I  were  de  mudder,  an'  I  des  sot  an'  cry.  I  mought 
er  done  hit,  I  mought  er  done  hit,  an'  hit  pester 
me  mightily  sometimes,  but  hit  too  late  now. 

I  sees  de  Baby  fol'  her  arms,  I  sees  de  blood  er  de 
Maw  in  her,  an'  I  hears  it  des  es  cole  es  ice. 


Brokenburne  31 

"  Den,  Misser  Le  Grand,  all  bertwix'  us  am  at  er 
eend  I  Go  swell  de  ranks  es  er  traitor  to  your  Souf- 
lan' ;  go  spill  de  blood  dat  oughter  been  your  pride. 
What  my  house  is^  I  /s.     Go  !  " 

She  sweep  by,  two  er  free  steps,  den  she  mos'  fall 
into  er  big  cheer  settin'  dar.  De  sun  were  down  an' 
hit  gittin'  dusky,  but  I  see  she  look  lack  stone. 

"  Furginia,  Furginia  I  "  Hit  seem  lack  Marse  Phil's 
heart  were  breakin'.  "  Lis'en  ter  me.  I  is  fixed  in 
my  b'leef  er  de  right  an'  de  truf,  an'  I  'se  boun'  ter 
"bide  by  hit.  What  am  er  man  widout  honor?  An' 
my  honor  hit  say  '  Go  ! '  but  oh,  my  lub,  how  can 
I  gib  you  up  I  Furginia,  gib  me,  grant  me  des  your 
lub  an'  let  me  be  er  man ! "  He  were  res'in'  on  one 
knee,  an'  all  de  dark  French  blood  were  er-pleadin' 
fur  him.  I  see  de  Baby  settin'  stiff  an'  still  lack  she 
were  dead,  an'  she  say : 

"  Misser  Le  Grand,  your  honor  an'  mine  is  two 
diffe'nt  t'ings,  an'  bofe  uv  'em  cain't  be  right ! " 

He  t'ink  she  weakenin'  an'  ketch  he  breaf  an' 
move  up  closter.  "  Bofe  b'leeve  dey  right,  an'  on'y 
time  can  prove  hit,"  he  say  so  eager  an'  yearnes'  lack. 

"  You  mistake  me,  Misser  Le  Grand,"  say  de 
Baby,  "an'  what  I  b'leeves  I  'se  willin'  ter  die  furl" 

Den  Marse  Phil  git  down  on  bofe  knees.    He  were 


32  Brokenburne 

er  proud  man,  Marse  Phil  were.  I  nebber  'spec'  ter 
lib  ter  see  dat  day;  an'  he  say  lack  he  talkin'  ter  er 
leetle  chile,  "  My  darlin',  you  is  actin'  uv  er  part, 
you  is  er-hidin'  er  your  true,  yearnes'  heart;  hit  er 
bleedin',  po'  tender  heart,  but  er  lub  lack  yourn  ain't 
gwine  die,  cain't  die,  lack  dis  I 

"  My  sweetheart,  my  own  leetle  one,"  he  cry,  "  say 
dat  when  all  am  settled,  when  de  war  done  ober,  dat 
I  kin  come  ter  Brokenburne  ter  claim  my  leetle 
wife!" 

I  hears  de  Baby  smudder  er  groan;  I  cain't  see 
'em  fur  de  dark,  now.  "  Philip  Le  Grand,"  she  say, 
"  don'  desecate  dat  word.  Ter  me  hit  now  am  sad- 
der an'  holier  dan  all  de  odders,  an'  fore  Gord  dat 
make  me,  I  say  dat  ef  you  goes  out  on  de  Union 
side  I  kin  nebber  be  your  wife, — nebber,  nebber  I " 

Dey  ain't  speak  fur  er  minute.  Den  I  hears  Marse 
Phil  say  lack  he  chokin',  "Den,  Furginia,  am  all  at  er 
eend  bertween  us  ?  " 

I  hears  de  Baby  whisper,  "  All !  " 

He  say,  "  Fur  all  time  ? "  and  she  say  lack  hit 
were  er  cuss,  er  cuss  on  his  life  an'  hern,  "  Maybe  fur 
Etarnity  I " 

I  hears  Marse  Phil  fling  sumpen  on  de  porch  an' 
grine  hit  hard  an'  quick  wid  his  heel.     Hit  were  de 


Brokenburne  33 

pictur'  dat  de  Baby  kiss  an'  lub,  dat  she  w'ar  roun' 
her  nake ! 

But  Marse  Phil  don'  make  no  sign  ner  say  no 
word,  but  des  turn,  wid  his  long  swingin'  step, 
down  de  walk  an'  inter  de  darkness,  des  lack  nuffin' 
happin. 

We  hab  er  turrible  time  dat  night,  me  an'  de 
Baby,  all  unbeknownst,  'ca'se  her  ain't  eben  tole  her 
ole  Mammy  yet,  but  she  lay  her  putty  brown  head 
'gin  dis  ole  brack  breas',  lack  she  uster  when  she  were 
leetle,  an'  cry  an'  cry  an'  say  she  sick  an'  wanter  die, 
— ain't  nuffin'  lack  de  stiff  Cabillear  lady  dat  telled 
Marse  Phil  ter  "  Go  I  "  But  I  cry  wid  her,  too,  'ca'se 
I  alius  cry  when  she  cry.  She  stay  in  bed  an'  I  fotch 
her  breakfus  an'  tell  'em  she  got  de  headache ;  den  I 
fotch  her  dinner  an'  tell  'em  she  got  de  headache,  an' 
hit  go  on  dat  way  fur  two  er  free  days,  an'  nobody 
ain't  say  nuffin'  'bout  Marse  Phil,  'ca'se  I  lis'ens 
'roun'  powerful  fur  de  sakes  er  de  Baby.  'Twel  one 
day  she  git  up  late  in  de  ebenin'  lookin'  es  white  es 
marvel,  an'  flings  her  pink  dressin'-gown  on  an'  goes 
ter  de  winder  an'  Stan's  dar  'hine  de  curtains  so  's 
nobody  ain't  see  her.  I  sees  de  Le  Grand  kerridge 
er-comin'  down  de  road,  an'  I  ketches  de  shinin'  er 
3 


34  Brokenburne 

big  brass  buttons  in  de  sunlight  on  a  blue  Yankee 
coat,  but  I  ain't  say  nuffin'.  Dey  hatter  pass  we-all's 
house  on  de  road  ter  de  station,  hain't  no  gittin'  roun' 
hit,  but  I  says  ter  myse'f,  says  I,  "  Marse  Phil  hain't 
no  sneak  ef  he  do  be  gwine  jine  de  Yanks;  des  putten 
on  he  blue  close  an'  start  wid  'em  right  here,  an'  he 
know  dey  all  plum  bitter  ergin  him  now.  Mought 
er  sneakted  ter  de  Norf  in  his  black  coat,  lack  many 
onnudder  one  done,"  but  I  lay  low  'bout  hit. 

De  Baby  git  whiter  an'  whiter  an'  hoi'  her  ban's  so 
tight,  twel  de  rings  on  de  leetle  fingers  cuttin'  plum 
inter  de  flesh.  Den  she  say,  "Mammy,  Mammy, 
look  I  come  see  I  De  traitor  ter  his  Maker,  his  ken- 
try  an'  ter  me  I " 

She  look  one  mo'  time,  but  hit  'pear  lack  de  sper- 
rit  uv  her  youf,  an'  de  sunlight  uv  her  joy,  go  out 
in  dat  look,  an'  she  fling  herse'f  on  de  bed  an'  cry, 
"  Oh  I  my  Gord  I  "  she  cry,  "  Lemme  die, —  I  hain't 
fitten  ter  lib, —  I  hain't  fitten  ter  look  happy  people 
in  de  face  no  mo'  I " 

Hit  were  de  blood  er  de  farder  an'  de  mudder 
stribin'  in  her,  de  head  an'  de  heart,  an'  hit  'pear  lack 
de  soul  gwine  fly  erway  lack  er  white  butterfly  in  de 
stribin'.  Hit  make  me  cry  now,  young  Marse, 
dough  I  'se  ole  an'  I  'se  hard,  an'  I  'se  been  frough  er 


Brokenburne  35 

heap  sence  den.  My  putty  angil,  my  po'  Baby! 
'ca'se  she  were  des  lack  mine.  I  nussed  two  babies, 
ole  Miss's  an'  mine,  but  de  Lord  tuck  de  strong 
brack  one,  an'  let'  de  leetle  tender  white  one.  Look 
at  dis  pictur',  young  Marse.  Hit  were  painted  'cross 
de  warter  somers ;  de  Baby  guv  hit  ter  me  when  she 
tuck  hit  fum  Marse  Phil,  but  es  white  an'  es  grand  es 
Furginia  Balfour  be,  hit  were  ole  brack  nigger  milk 
make  her  dat  way. 

Well,  leetle  by  leetle,  de  Baby  tell  me,  an'  I  'suade 
her  ter  talk,  fur  hit  do  her  good,  but  I  hain't  got  ter 
say  er  word  'gin  Marse  Phil,  no  my  Lord  I  fur  she 
des  flare  up  lack  powder. 

She  keep  her  room  whilst  de  whole  kentry  des  er- 
waggin'  'bout  Phil  Le  Grand  er-jinin'  de  Yanks. 
Ole  Marse  he  swar'  an'  ole  Miss  she  plum  shock'. 
She  high  an'  mighty,  she  des  shock';  an'  she  say  proud 
lack  ter  de  comp'ny  dat  come,  "  Dat  hit  were  berry 
unfortnit  an'  pervokin',  'bout  de  mixin'  up  er  de 
names;  dat  dar  hain't  nebber  been  anyt'ing  ertween 
Furginia  Balfour  an'  Misser  Le  Grand."  Po'  ole 
Miss  I  she  ain't  ebber  ast  de  Baby,  an'  po'  Baby  I 
she  ain't  nebber  tell  her. 

Young  Marse,  hearts  is  cu'i's  t'ings,  boun'  ter  no  one 
er  turr,  but  you  nebber  kin  tell  whedder  dey  gwine 


3^  Brokenbiirne 

ben'  er  break,  twel  dey  done  gone  an'  done  hit,  an' 
dat  were  de  way  wid  de  Baby. 

Doctor  kim  an'  say  she  read  too  much;  nudder 
kim  an'  say  she  t'ink  too  much ;  nudder  kim  an'  say 
she  don'  read  'nough,  dat  she  dwellin'  on  sumpen. 

Den,  bress  your  soul,  de  Maw's  spirit  in  her  r'ar', 
an'  she  git  mad  an'  git  out'n  dat  bed  in  er  jiffy  an' 
inter  de  garden,  but  she  were  mighty  weak  an'  white 
when  de  mad  lef'  her. 

She  git  betterer  bimeby,  an'  go  out  an'  hunt  up  all 
de  po'  mizerbul  niggers  on  de  plantation,  des  ter 
make  'em  happy, — an'  my  I  —  de  t'ings  de  Baby  guv 
dem  ole  mizerbul  niggers ! 

Well,  arter  while,  young  Marse  he  kim  home  wid 
fixin's  on  he  shoulder,  an'  we  all  dat  proud  er  de  fixin's 
we  could  n'  honor  him  ernough.  Den  him  an'  Miss 
Jinny  hab  er  long  talk,  an'  I  see  'em  comin'  in,  he  er- 
lookin'  down,  so  proud  an'  han'some,  an'  her  er-lookin' 
up  wid  her  han'  on  he  arm,  so  lovin'  an'  so  trus'ful, — 
dar  were  er  mighty  strong  tie  ertwix'  dem  two,  alius. 

An',  Lord  I  how  high  ole  Miss  step  es  she  guv 
her  orders.  You  t'ink  she  fixin'  ter  'tain  de  Prince  er 
Wales,  an'  hit  were  "  my  son  dis,  an'  my  son  dat," 
twell  we  could  n'  res'. 

'Bout  dat  time  we  beared   dat   Marse  Phil  done 


Brokenhurne  2>J 

kim  home  too;  hit  were  sorter  whispered  roun',  fur 
dar  wa'n't  many  er  dem  sort  in  our  parts.  Den  him 
an'  young  Marse  meet  an'  pass  one  nurr  in  de  big 
road  'douten  de  techin'  er  dey  hats, —  dem  dat  hab 
been  chillun  an'  luvyers  tergerrl 

Bimeby  young  Marse  jine  he  reg'mint,  an'  we 
beared  as  how  Marse  Phil  done  gone  too, —  when 
one  night  'bout  dark,  some  one  fotch  er  message  an' 
say  dey  some  one  wanter  see  Bene  down  by  the  or- 
chard gate.  I  t'ink  hit  mighty  quare,  but  howsome- 
ebber  es  dey  sont  fur  me,  I  goes. 

I  gits  nigh  de  gate  an'  I  sees  er  tall  figger  stan'in' 
dar  in  de  shadder.  Bene  were  mighty  skeered  hit 
were  er  Yank  done  come  ter  steal  her,  but  she  done 
make  up  her  min'  dat  she  ain't  gwine  go,  when  de 
figger  hit  say : 

"Mam  Bene,  hit  were  me  sont  fur  you," — an'  bress 
goodness!  ef  hit  wa'n't  Marse  Phil  I 

I  wa'n't  nuffin'  but  er  nigger,  an'  I  don'  know 
what  's  'spected  uv  me,  I  dun  know  wher'  ter  be  glad 
er  sorry,  so  I  des  fol'  my  arms,  an'  say  nuffin',  lack 
ole  Miss  do. 

"Mam  Bene,"  he  say,  "I  'se  in  er  herry, —  dey  all 
t'ink  I  gone,  but  I  could  n'  go  'dout  seeing  you. 
Tell  me,  fur  Gord's  sake,  how  she  be*?"     His  voice 


38  Brokenbume 

shake  an'  trimble,  an'  I  guv  in,  'ca'se  I  knows  he  lubs 
her  yit. 

Es  I  tells  him  mo'  an'  mo',  he  say,  "Po'  leetle 
girl,  brave  leetle  heart,"  ober  an'  ober,  an'  drawed 
his  sleeve  'cross  his  furrud  lack  hit  were  hot. 

He  sorter  choke  when  I  tells  him  how  she  won't 
let  nobody  'buse  him,  an'  arter  while  he  say,  "  My 
time  's  up." 

Den  he  say,  sof'  's  er  'oman,  "  Mam  Bene,  take 
keer  er  my  leetle  girl.  Gord  only  know  how  I 
lub  her  I  I  hain't  no  call  ter  glory  ef  I  be  brave. 
I  'd  be  er  coward  an'  skulk  fur  her  sake  ef  I  could, 
but  I  cain't,  I  cain't.  My  manhood  won't  let  me,  an' 
ef  hit  did,  she  'd  hate  me  I" 

"Mam  Bene,"  he  cry  ergin,  "  she  's  mine,  she  's 
mine !  Don'  let  anyt'ing  happen  ter  her.  Guard 
her  wid  your  life.  Take  keer  uv  her  twel  she  '11  let 
me  come  an'  claim  her,  fur  dat  will  f/ws'  gib  in  ter 
mine  ! " 

"Mam  Bene,"  he  say,  eager  lack,  "dar  mighty 
hard  times  er-comin'  'fore  dis  ober,  times  er  sorrer  an' 
suff'rin',  an'  dyin',  an'  we  may  n't  see  one  nurr  twel 
hit  all  cl'ar  erway.  Take  dis," — an'  he  shove  sumpen 
hard,  dat  feel  lack  money,  inter  my  ban's.  "  Keep 
hit  hid  twel  de  hard  times  kim,  an'  don'  let  her  want 


Brokenbiinie  39 

fur  anyt'ing  dat  she  been  uster,  not  ef  money  kin  buy 
hit.  Hit  am  gole  an'  hit  '11  pass  anywhar.  What- 
ebber  you  does,  don'  let  Furginia  know  you  seen 
me ;  ef  she  'spec'  de  money,  say  de  young  Marse 
sont  hit.  Et  you  go  fum  here,  leabe  word  wid 
Mammy  Dink  at  my  house,  an'  this  paper  '11  pass 
you  anywhar  'long  de  Fedrul  lines." 

Den  he  squiz  my  han'  an'  say,  "  Take  keer  er  my 
leetle  gal, — Gord  bress  you  all, —  goodbye!"  —  an' 
he  were  gone.  Gone  ter  jine  his  Yanks,  an'  he  got 
my  Baby's  heart,  an'  she  got  his'n, —  my  Lord  ! 

Dun  know  how  hit  were,  young  Marse,  but  arter 
while  hit  'pear  lack  we  was  cut  off,  sorter  out  'n  line 
er  sumpen.  Hit  nebber  seem  fur  fum  folkes  in  time 
er  peace.  Dar  was  alius  comin'  an'  gwine  den,  but  now 
hit  'pear  lack  we  way  ter  nowhar,  an'  de  news  we  gits 
so  stale  hit  no  news  ertall. 

Miss  Jinny  she  taken  powerful  ter  de  leetle  Cat- 
'lick  Church.  Marse  Phil  he  were  er  Cat'lick,  but  de 
Baby  wa'n't  nufRn'.  Her  Maw  taken  on  powerful 
fur  er  while,  but  hit  don'  do  no  good,  fur  de  Baby 
keep  er-gwine. 

We  ain't  got  de  t'ings  we  uster  hab,  but  we  's  got 
de  style,  fur  ole  Miss  steps  higher  yit,  'counter  young 
Marse.     She  set  lack  er  queen,  dough  de  chiny  see 


40  Brokenburne 

t'ings  hit  nebber  see  erfore,  an'  de  silber  urn  make  de 
'quaintance  wid  'tater  coffee. 

We  ain't  beared  fum  young  Marse  fur  er  time 
an'  we  's  all  mighty  oneasy  in  de  min',  but  we  ain't 
say  much,  'ca'se  we  's  all  er  powerful  proud,  secretin' 
fambly,  but  we  's  cryin'  an'  worryin'  des  de  same. 

All  uv  er  suddent  here  kim  er  batch  er  papers 
an'  letters  frough  de  lines,  Dey  was  ole,  but  dey 
fotch  news  ernough  ter  we-all.  Dey  guv  'em  ter  ole 
Miss  an'  Miss  Jinny,  'ca'se  ole  Marse  cain't  see  'dout 
his  specs ;  an'  we-all  house  niggers  waits  ter  hear  de 
news. 

"  'Motions,"  read  ole  Miss,  sorter  smilin'. 
"  Won'erful  charge, — 'moted  on  de  fiel', —  Colonel 
Balfour, —  hear  dat"?"  Ole  Miss  do  look  so  proud, 
ole  Marse  slap  he  knee  an'  holler,  "  By  Jove,  I 
knowed  he  would ! "  an'  de  Baby  jump  an'  hug  her 
Paw, — dey  was  alius  tergedder,  dese  two,  in  joy  er  in 
sorrer.     Ole  Miss  lub  ter  be  proud  by  herse'f 

Den  she  open  ernurr  paper.  Dar  er  long  list  er 
woun'ed  an'  dead  fur  de  battle  er  sumpen  ruther,  whar 
de  Yanks  whup  us  plum  out;   I  done  furgit  de  name. 

Ole  Miss  rin  her  eye  down  de  line  lack  er  streck, 
an'  we  hoi'  our  breaf  ter  hear  her  say  hit  all  right,  but 
she  nebber  say  hit.     Po'  ole  Miss!   so  proud  an'  so 


_v.v,,^_-,_5.M. 


Brokenburne  41 

grand  I  She  des  straighten  back  stiff  widout  er  word, 
wid  one  long  white  finger  p'intin'  at  'er  name  in  de 
list  er  de  dead. 

Miss  Jinny  say  hit  were,  "  Colonel  Balfour,  de 
braves'  orfficer  er  de  day,  is  'ported  dead,  but  dar  am 
no  cert'ny  in  de  'port." 

But  ole  Miss  nebber  see  dat  line;  she  des  see  der 
name  uv  her  boy.  De  doctor  he  say  it  'plexy;  dat 
de  heart  been  t'reatenin'  fur  er  long  time,  but  ole 
Miss  ain't  tell  us,  'ca'se  she  proud ;  dat  de  shock  done 
fetch  hit  on  sooner  dan  he  'spected,  and  she  cain't  git 
well. 

Po'  ole  Marse  I  'pear  lack  he  done  furgit  how  hard 
an'  cole  she  growed  ter  be,  an'  he  t'ink  on  her  lack 
her  were  young  an'  lovin'  ergin,  an'  set  an'  smoove 
her  long  white  han'  lack  he  were  in  er  daze,  an'  de 
Baby  set  at  his  feet  an'  cry,  but  ole  Miss  ain't  move 
an'  dun  know  nuffin'  yit. 

Bimeby  de  hard,  proud  look  des  fade  erway,  an' 
de  face  look  des  es  sweet  an'  ca'm  es  er  leetle  chile. 
Ole  Miss  were  er  putty  'oman,  all  de  grand  look  done 
gone,  'ca'se  she  were  gittin'  ready  fur  de  Kingdom. 
Ole  Marse  nebber  move  one  peg,  but  set  sider  de 
bed  an'  say  sof'  t'ings  ter  her,  dough  she  cain't 
nebber  hear  'em,  an'  de  big  tears  rin  down  his  cheeks. 


42  Brokenburne 

Hit  feel  mighty  quare  not  ter  see  ole  Miss  look- 
in'  arter  t'ings,  but  t'ings  goes  on  des  lack  she  were 
dar,  'ca'se  we  mos'  feels  lack  we  hears  her  voice,  an' 
we  prays  we  mought,  but  hit  wa'n't  no  use.  So  we 
sont  fur  her  preacher  an'  he  pray,  dough  ole  Miss 
cain't  hear  him.  But  es  we  stan'  dar,  we  know  she 
done  make  her  peace,  fur  she  fetch  one  long,  easy 
breaf,  er-smilin'  lack  she  hear  sumpen  we  ain't  hear, 
den  go  ter  sleep  lack  er  baby  in  de  mudder's  arms. 
Well,  we  buries  ole  Miss  an'  watch  de  sun  go  down 
on  de  new  grabe, — de  fus'  yeth  bruk  fur  er  Balfour 
in  many  an'  many  er  year.  Oh,  hit  were  pitiful  I  an' 
we  all  mourn  yearnes'  fur  ole  Miss,  fur  hit  seem 
lack  on'y  de  good  done  lef  ter  '  member  her  by, 
an'  de  niggers  min's  her  word  an'  does  her  way, 
dough  she  dead  an'  gone,  fur  de  fears  er  pesterin' 
her   in   de   grabe,  an'  fur   de   layin'    uv   her   sperrit. 

Ole  Marse  he  'pear  ter  des  let  go,  but  de  Baby  put 
her  leetle  white  shoulder  ter  de  wheel  an'  her  ole 
Mammy  holp  her  b'ar  de  load. 

'Pear  lack  ole  Marse  sorter  wander  in  de  min'  an' 
he  t'ink  he  young  ergin,  an'  sometimes  he  call  Miss 
Jinny  by  de  Maw's  name.  Po'  Baby  !  I  sees  her 
turn  her  head  an'  her  lip  trimble  when  she  answer, 
but  she  des  fotch  him  back  lack  he  were  er  leetle 


Brokenbnrne  43 

chile.  Den  ole  Marse  git  ter  talkin'  'bout  Marse 
Phil  an'  r'ar'  an'  charge  lack  he  uster,  on'y  he  weaker, 
an'  say  Miss  Jinny  done  fixin'  ter  leabe  him,  ter  rin 
erway  wid  Marse  Phil ;  dat  she  were  false  an'  ontrue 
wid  de  fust  traitor  blood  dat  ebber  warm  de  heart  uv 
er  Balfour;  ter  go  'long  wid  her  Yank,  dat  right; 
ter  leabe  her  ole  farder  ter  die  fur  he  principuls. 
She  git  white  an'  shake,  lack  she  hab  de  agur,  an' 
her  voice  trimble,  but  she  soove  him  an'  soove  him 
twel  he  t'ink  he  talkin'  ter  de  Maw  'bout  de  two 
leetle  chillun,  an'  he  laugh  sorter  low,  an'  'low  dat 
"  Mammy  spilin'  dat  gal  sho."  Well,  t'ings  w'ar  on 
so  po'ly,  what  wid  worry  in'  an  weep  in',  de  Baby  git 
so  white  an'  thin  dat  I  'se  'feared  de  angils  kim  in  de 
night-time  an'  take  her  'way  all  unbeknownst,  an'  I 
gits  up  ter  ease  my  min'  an'  feels  in  de  bed  ef  she 
dar;  she  dar,  an'  she  gits  up  in  de  mornin'  an'  go 
frough  de  same  ole  t'ing. 

We  'se  all  'feared  young  Marse  kilt  sho'  'nough, 
'ca'se  we  hain't  beared  nuffin'  sense  de  paper  whar  ole 
Miss  read.  Then  one  dark  day  when  hit  'pear 
lack  ole  Marse  wan'erin'  worser  an'  worser,  an'  hit 
'pear  lack  de  Baby  could  n'  libe  frough  hit  no  longer, 
er  foot  scrunch  on  de  grabble  in  de  walk,  er  man 
wid  his   arm   in   er  sling  step  up  on  de  porch,  an' 


44  .    Brokenburne 

Miss  Jinny,  lack  er  bird  dat  done  foun'  er  res'  at  las', 
wid  er  leetle  sof  cry,  fol'  young  Marse  in  her  arms  I 

'Pear  lack  young  Marse  wa'n't  dead  arter  all.  He 
were  woun'ed  an'  los'  he  head  fum  de  flowin'  er  de 
blood,  an'  dey  lef  him  on  de  fiel'  fur  dead. 

Bimeby,  when  hit  git  dark,  he  kim  to,  an'  some 
one  hear  him  groan  an'  make  er  light ;  he  dun  know 
who  he  were,  an'  de  man  retch  in  young  Marse's 
pockets  ter  fin'  out  who  he  be,  an'  pull  out  er  pictur' 
er  de  Baby  (de  mate  ter  dis  one  here,  young  Marse) 
an'  when  he  strike  ernurr  light  an'  look,  he  say  : 
"  My  Gord  I  my  Gord ! "  but  young  Marse  too 
weak  ter  see  who  hit  were  yit.  Den  de  man  lay  de 
pictur'  sof  lack  in  de  pocket  ergin. 

Bimeby,  young  Marse  fin'  hese'f  in  er  horsepittle, 
wid  er  lot  er  woun'ed  Yankees,  an'  he  stay  dar  fur 
mont's  an'  mont's,  not  knowin'  er  keerin'.  'Pear  lack 
de  man  sont  word  ter  ole  Marse  an'  dem,  but  dey 
nebber  git  hit, —  on'y  de  papers  wid  de  'port. 

Young  Marse  ast  ter  see  de  man  what  sont  him 
dar,  but  he  ain't  come,  an'  bimeby,  when  he  git  bet- 
ter, he  say  he  gwine ;  when  de  nuss  brung  him  er  let- 
ter an'  hit  say :  "  My  brudder,  you  dun  know  who 
sabed  you,  an'  I  t'ink  hit  bes'  fur  him  not  ter  see 
you,   onless  hit   could   do   some   good,   fur   he  who 


Brokenbiirne  45 

sabed  you  am  er  brudder,  not  er  foe.  Dese  here 
dun  know  who  you  be,  an'  you  hain't  no  cause  ter 
tell  'em,  I  tuck  your  gray  close  'fore  I  totch  you 
here.  You  kin  fin'  'em  whar  I  tells  you.  I  sont 
your  people  word.  Go  home  fur  her  sake.  Don't 
enter  de  sarvice  ergin  twel  you  git  well.  Now  you 
know  who  I  is." 

Dar  were  money  too  in  de  letter  fur  ter  fotch 
young  Marse  home  dat  Marse  Phil  ain't  say  anyt'ing 
erbout.  Young  Marse  writ  er  letter  an'  t'ank  him ; 
he  could  n'  holp  dat.  But  he  sont  de  money  back, 
'ca'se  unner  de  sarcumstances  he  'ferred  ter  foot  hit 
all  de  way  home. 

Young  Marse  hear  'bout  he  Maw  bein'  dead  'fore 
he  git  here,  an'  what  kilt  her,  an'  hit  go  mighty  hard 
wid  him,  wid  dat  deep  hu'tin'  dat  las'es  so  long. 

Hit  take  young  Marse's  arm  er  power  er  time  ter 
git  well,  an'  arter  er  while  we  ^'mos'  git  cheerful  lack ; 
ole  Marse  bein'  sometimes  worser  an'  sometimes 
betterer  in  he  min',  an'  we  all  humors  him  powerful. 

He  still  r'ar'  'bout  Marse  Phil  an'  Miss  Jinny;  he 
cain't  unnerstan'  'bout  he  sabin'  er  young  Marse,  so 
he  an'  Miss  Jinny  hain't  call  de  name  bertwix'  'em 
sence  he  telled  'em. 

Bimeby  young  Marse's  arm  git  well,  his  duty  call 


4^  Brokenburne 

him,  an'  he  hatter  go.  He  look  er  long  time  at  Miss 
Jinny,  wid  her  eyes  so  big  an'  dark  an'  her  face  so 
white;  he  look  er  long  time  at  he  Paw,  broken, 
bented,  settin'  in  de  big  cheer,  talkin'  lack  er  leetle 
chile  sometimes,  but  he  hatter  go. 

He  bury  he  head  in  he  ban's,  den  raise  he  face, 
white  an'  drawed  wid  pain,  an'  say,  "  Take  keer  uv^ 
'em.  Mammy  I " 

So  young  Marse  go  down  de  big  walk,  an'  all  de 
sunlight  go  down  wid  him  fur  me  an'  de  Baby. 

Arter  dat  t'ings  goes  on  slow  lack  an'  out'n  gear. 
Ole  Marse  he  fail  day  arter  day,  lack  de  sun  goin' 
down  slow  but  sho',  an'  Miss  Jinny  she  griebe  an' 
griebe. 

I  t'inks  'bout  de  money  Marse  Phil  guv  me,  but 
we  got  'nough  ter  eat,  an'  money  cain't  buy  helf 
an'  happiness,  dough  she  uster  bote,  so  I  keeps  hit 
hid. 

Some  days  Miss  Jinny  git  mighty  low,  an'  go 
'bout  wid  de  putty  brown  eyes  red  and  swelled  lack 
all  day.  I  knows  what  hit  were,  'ca'se  I  'se  er  'oman. 
I  castes  'bout  what  ter  say.  Den  I  says,  desprit  lack, 
says  I  ('ca'se  I  knows  she  kin  tell  her  sumpen), 
"Honey,  'sposin'  I  sen'  Aaron  arter  Mammy  Dink 
ter  come  holp  me,  'ca'se  I  got  er  mizry."     She  sorter 


Brokenbiinie  47 

kin  ter  Aaron,  an'  uster  come  sometimes  'fore  we  all 
taken  sides. 

Den  de  Baby  raise  dem  long  heaby  lashes  an'  say, 
"No,  you  hain't,  Mammy;  hit  me  got  de  mizry." 
Den  she  say  rale  low,  "  No,  you  cain't.  Mammy." 

Den  I  say,  "  Don't  you  lub  him  no  mo',  honey  ?  " 

She  raise  her  eyes  solemn  lack,  an'  say,  "  Yas, 
Mammy,  I  do  lub  him  I  " 

Den  I  say,  "  What  you  breakin'  your  heart  fur, 
Baby;  'ca'se  folks  wanter  fight  an'  die,  is  you  gotter 
die  too?" 

She  shake  her  head  so  sad  lack,  an'  say,  "Mammy, 
'dout  meanin'  any  disrespec'  ter  you,  'ca'se  I  lubs  you, 
you  is  er  nigger,  Mammy,  an'  er  slabe;  you  cain't 
unnerstan'  de  free-born  blood,  de  blood  dat  '11  die  by 
de  cause,  an'  be  glad  er  de  chances.  Hit  de  princi- 
puls.  Mammy,  hit  de  principuls,  and  I  'se  'feared  I  'se 
er  weak  'oman.  I  'd  lay  down  my  life  an'  die  fur  'em, 
but  oh,  my  Gord  I  hit  's  de  libin'  widout  him  !  But 
he  mus'  nebber,  nebber  know  hit.  Mammy;  he  mus' 
t'ink  dat  my  lub  am  dead,  dat  I  'se  true  ter  my 
house,  an'  I  will  be  true,  Mammy  I" 

'T  'ain't  no  use  ter  argufy,  an'  I  ain't.  She  speak  de 
Gord's  truf :  I  cain't  unnerstan' ! 

Ole  Marse  done  fail  an'  fliil  now,  twel  ever'body 


48  Brokenburne 

see  es  how  he  cain't  las'  much  longer, — all  'cep'in'  Miss 
Jinny,  an'  she  keep  er-hopin'  'gin  hope,  'ca'se  she  say 
de  Lord  hain't  gwine  take  'em  all  fum  her.  He 
gwine  leabe  one.  But  he  hain't  gwine  leabe  ole 
Marse.  He  were  one  kine  er  dem  folkes,  honey,  dat 
de  Lord  make  er  call  fur  him  ter  ben',  an'  he  cain't 
do  hit,  he  des  hatter  break.  We  tries  ter  git  word 
ter  young  Marse,  but  we  cain't;  we  writes  an' 
writes,  an'  we  ain't  hear  nuffin'.  Ole  Marse  see  how 
hit  were,  an'  he  tries  so  hard  ter  lib, —  po'  ole  Marse  I 
He  nebber  wanter  gib  no  trouble  ef  he  kin  holp  it, 
but  he  des  could  n'  make  er  stan'  'gin'  def,  dat  kim 
er-creepin'  an'  er-creepin'  in  de  daylight  an'  de 
darkness. 

De  Baby  she  fix  him  an'  prop  him  in  his  big  cheer, 
an'  comb  he  ha'r  an'  tell  him  how  putty  he  look,  an' 
sing  ter  him,  an'  make  jokes  fur  him  ter  laugh,  wid 
her  po'  heart  des  er-breakin'  all  de  time,  an'  all  de 
time  de  call  des  er-knockin'  at  de  do'. 

Honey,  we  's  all  gotter  hear  dat  call;  hain't  no  beg- 
gar's rags  gwine  hide  him,  an'  hain't  no  king's  do' 
dat  '11  shet  hit  out.  Hain't  no  lub  gwine  make  hit 
wait,  an'  hain't  no  hate  gwine  herry  hit.  Hit  kim 
ter  all  do's  an'  hit  kim  ter  ourn.  Sometime  'fore 
hit  kim    de    min'    dat  wan'erin'   all   kim   back,   des 


Brokenbunie  49 

es  ca'm  an'  strong,  an'  hit  were  dat  way  wid  ole 
Marse. 

De  Baby  feel  so  happy  'bout  hit  an'  hum  er  leetle 
song  ter  herse'f;  she  alius  do  dat  way  when  she 
happy,  an'  I  hain't  let  on,  'ca'se  hit  break  dis  ole 
heart  fur  ter  spile  one  minute  fur  her.  He  talk  ter 
me  private  lack,  when  she  ain't  dar,  an'  make  all 
de  'rangements  quiet  lack. 

At  las'  dar  were  er  great  change,  eben  de  Baby 
t'ink  he  lookin'  po'ly  an'  bad,  an'  he  call  de  Baby 
ter  him,  an'  tell  me  ter  wait  dar,  lookin'  mighty 
yearnes',  an'  I  waits, — 'pear  lack  ever't'ing  waitin', — 
an'  he  say,  "  Furginia,"  says  he,  "  my  chile,  I 
hain't  got  long  ter  stay,  an'  I  got  some  t'ings  ter  tell 
you  dat  I  done  putten  off  long  'nough.  You  has 
been  er  comfort  an'  er  joy  ter  me  ebber  sence  I  knowed 
er  leetle  gal  chile  were  borned  ter  me,  an'  I  t'ank 
Gord  fur  sen'in'  you,  ever'  day  dat  I  lib,  but  now  I 
feels  I  got  ter  go,  an'  gwine  be  wid  your  mudder 
'fore  long." 

De  Baby  could  n'  say  nuffin',  but  des  stan'  dar,  wid 
de  big  tears  er-drappin'  off'n  her  lashes  lack  rain,  an' 
ole  Marse  smoove  an'  pat  de  leetle  white  han'  while 
he  talk. 

"  I  done  make  my  'rangements  ter  go,  all  unbe- 


50  Brokenhurne 

knownst  ter  you,  'ca'se  I  did  n'  wanter  burden  you 
'fore  de  time — hit  were  fur  de  bes'.  Don'  cry,  my 
darter,  fur  you  hu't  me,  hu't  me  so  I  cain't  talk." 
Ole  Marse  still  look  at  de  leetle  ban'  an'  pat  hit  sof 
ergin.  "You  is  mighty  leetle  an'  Mammy  mighty 
ole  ter  leabe  here  all  erlone,  but  I  cain't  wait,  an'  you 
hatter  do  de  bestes'  you  kin  twel  de  Colonel  kim 
home."  (We  alius  gib  young  Marse  his  'titlement 
when  we  names  him,  an'  ole  Marse  ain't  furgit.) 
"When  my  boy  come  home,  tell  him  he  make  his 
farder  proud  'fore  he  died." 

He  still  hol'in'  de  Baby's  ban',  an'  'pear  lack  he 
countin'  de  leetle  fingers.  I  'low  ter  sen'  Aaron  fur 
de  doctor,  but  ole  Marse  he  say  stern  lack,  "I  'se 
beared  de  call,  Mammy,  an'  I  'se  ready  ter  go  ;  I  wants 
my  las'  hour  ter  be  er  hour  er  peace" 

I  'low  ter  sen'  Aaron  fur  de  preacher,  but  ole  Marse 
'low  he  don'  want  him.  He  say,  "  I  done  make  my 
peace  long  ergo;  hit  er  mighty  po'  Christian,  Mammy, 
dat  '11  wait  fur  defter  skeer  'im  inter  salvation." 

Ole  Marse  know  what  he  want.  He  des  er-talkin' 
right  erlong  now  lack  hese'f,  so  we  all  des  wait. 

De  Baby  'pear  lack  she  unner  er  spell  er  sumpen. 
I  hain't  nebber  see  her  eyes  so  big  er  her  face  so 
white,  an'  she  des  look  at  ole  Marse  lack  she  tryin' 


Brokenburne  51 

ter  charm  his  soul  wid  hern  frough  her  eyes.  Ole 
Marse  say  lack  't  were  in  er  dream : 

"  I  hain't  got  long  ter  wait.  I  'se  goin'  out  wid  de 
tide,  an'  she  rinnin'  out  fas'." 

Den  he  riz  on  he  elbow  an'  look  de  Baby  squar'  in 
de  face.  She  were  kneelin'  by  de  bed  an'  trimblin' 
lack  er  leaf  Den  he  say,  "  Furginia,  de  Balfours 
kim  f'um  er  long  line  er  brave  men  an'  noble  'omen, 
an'  dey  hain't  any  uv  'em  ebber  shame  de  name; 
what  dey  b'leeve  dey  libs  by,  an'  dey  died  by.  I 
hain't  'feared  er  de  boy,  an'  I  hain't  'feared  er  you, 
my  darter,  but  Gord  make  er  'oman  cu'i's, — hatter 
make  her  dat  way  fur  de  sabin  uv  her  soul.  I  hain't 
layin'  any  lines  on  you,  my  darter,  but  I  want  you 
ter  holp  me  die  happy." 

I  knowed  what  were  comin'  an'  hit  gwine  fall 
mighty  heaby,  an'  I  prays  fur  ole  Marse  ter  change 
he  min'  'fore  he  speak  out,  but  hit  boun'  ter  come. 
Den  I  prays  quick  an'  fas'  dat  Miss  Jinny  mought 
argufy  de  case  des  er  leetle,  but  she  were  true  ter 
de  principuls  an'  true  ter  de  blood.  She  git  whiter 
an'  whiter,  but  she  wait. 

De  tide  were  mos'  rin  out, — de  nigh  bars  looks 
high  an'  dry  frough  de  openin'  in  de  oaks;  an'  ole 
Marse  lay  wid  his  eyes  shet  lack  he  sleepin'. 


52  Broke  nburne 

De  tide  still  rinnin';  de  far  bars  shows  er  leetle 
rim.  Den  suddent  lack  ole  Marse  springs  right  up 
in  de  bed  an'  he  whispers,  "  I  'se  goin' !  I  'se  mos' 
gone  I  Promise  me,  promise,  'fore  hit  too  late!"  He 
look  wild  lack  an'  hoi'  Miss  Jinny's  arm  lack  he 
cain't  let  her  go.  She  open  her  mouf  fur  de  fust  time 
an'  say  sumpen,  but  hit  soun'  lack  hit  were  'way  off, 
an'  I  cain't  hear  fur  de  ringin'  in  my  ears.  Den  ole 
Marse,  wid  his  face  all  drawed,  raise  his  voice  loud 
an'  cl'ar,  "  Promise,  promise  me,  no  matter  which 
erway  de  war  may  turn,  no  matter  who  am  false  er 
who  am  true,  dat  your  farder's  blood  shall  nebber 
cross  wid  de  blood  uv  er  Le  Grand  I " 

De  Baby  ain't  move.  She  git  whiter  an'  whiter,  an' 
lif  her  eyes  lack  she  talkin'  ter  Gord.  De  fingers  on 
her  arm  git  tighter  an'  tighter ;  'pear  lack  dey  gwine 
mash  de  bone. 

Den  ole  Marse  glar'  roun'  wid  he  face  all  workin' 
lack  he  sees  sumpen  ebil,  an'  he  say,  "  Promise, 
promise  quick  I " 

She  drap  dem  eyes  dat  been  er-'munin'  wid  her 
Maker, — she  strong  'nough  now,  fur  He  done  comfort 
her, — an'  she  look  ole  Marse  squar'  in  de  eyes,  dat 
glassin'  now,  an'  gittin'  dim,  an'  she  say  loud  an'  cl'ar, 
fearin'  he  moughten  hear  her,  "  Farder,  I  promise 


I  >' 


Brokenhurne  53 

1  dun  know  how  hit  were  den,  but  she  were  down  on 
her  knees,  de  farder's  han'  were  res'in'  on  de  curls, 
an'  de  smile  dat  lay  roun'  ole  Marse's  face  were 
mixin'  up  de  joy  er  Heaben  wid  de  tears  er  de  yeth. 

I  let  'em  be.  De  tide  were  all  rin  out, —  I  sot  an' 
wait;  de  darkness  crope  an'  crope,  an'  lack  de  ole 
worl'  were  er  great  big  nes',  de  black  wing  kiver  all. 

Young  Marse,  de  jedgment  hain't  gwine  ter  fetch 
no  solemner  time  ter  me  dan  de  day  arter  ole  Marse 
die.  De  Baby  hain't  cry  yit,  but  go  'bout  busy  an' 
white,  wid  her  eyes  des  es  dry  an'  er-shinin'  lack  two 
stars.  She  do  all  de  orderin'  an'  'rangin'  lack  she 
were  er  man.  We  hain't  beared  fum  young  Marse 
an'  she  taken  de  son's  place.  Dar  wa'n't  many  ter 
'ten'  de  funul,  on'y  de  nighes'  frien's,  fur  de  Baby 
want  hit  quiet.  Wid  me  an'  her  es  de  mourners, 
we  lays  him  sider  ole  Miss  an'  leabes  'em  tergedder 
in  de  starlight.  De  Baby  'fuse  ter  go  home  wid  any 
er  dey  frien's,  er  ter  let  'em  stay  wid  her;  she  gwine 
stay  home  an'  her  ole  Mammy  gwine  stay  wid  her. 

She  set  down  ter  tea  all  erlone  an'  de  shadders  fall 
heaby  an'  heaby.  Er  whup'will  call  fum  out  de 
woods,  de  pine-trees  moans,  an'  de  tide  sob  wid  hit, 
but  hit  'pear  lack  de  Baby  cain't  cry.     I  'se  feared 

4* 


54  Brokenburne 

fur  her  min',  fur  't  ain't  in  de  natur'  uv  er  'oman  ter 
do  dat  way.  I  talks  'bout  de  time  when  her  an'  de 
brudder  was  leetle,  an'  how  proud  ole  Marse  an'  ole 
Miss  was,  an'  how  de  leetle  feet  keep  ole  Mammy  so 
busy,  an'  how  we-all  went  trabblin'  in  de  summer,  an' 
how  ever'body  des  take  ter  ole  Marse  fur  de  good 
dat  in  him.  How  arter  while,  he  keep  de  school 
'ports,  so  proud  lack,  in  he  desk,  an'  he  w'ar  de  leetle 
"  honor  medals"  on  he  watch-guard,  an'  he  brag  on  he 
boy  an'  he  brag  on  he  gal,  twel  ever'body  hatter  jine 
in;  an'  how  he  gib  er  breakdown  ter  all  de  niggers 
ever'  year  when  de  chillun  kim  fum  school. 

De  Baby  ain't  blink  dem  eyes  yit,  dough  I  knows 
she  lis'enin'.  Den  I  say,  "  Honey,  you  hab  de  bestes' 
Paw  er  gal  ebber  hab;  don'  you  know  hit,  Baby?" 
Her  lip  sorter  trimble,  an'  she  shiver  lack  she  callin' 
her  soul  back  fum  de  grabe.  Den  I  say,  "  Hain't 
you  sorry  he  gone,  honey"?  —  dat  you  hain't  hear  him 
call  on  dis  yeth  no  mo', —  de  bestes'  farder  an'  de 
bestes'  Marster  was  ebber  make  fur  er  nigger  errer 
chile  1" 

She  shiver  all  ober  ergin,  den  make  one  soun'  an' 
fling  herse'f  in  dese  ole  arms.  De  storm  hab  come, 
an'  she  cry  hard  lack  her  heart  done  broke.  I  t'ank 
de  good  Lord,  fur  I  knows  her  min'  done  safe  now. 


Brokeiibunte  ss 

an'  I  lets  her  cry  an'  cry  an'  soove   her  lack  I  'se 
done  many  er  time  erfore. 

Well,  t'ings  goes  on  mighty  lack  dey  do  erfore, 
'ca'se  dey  all  knows  de  ways,  an'  ef  dey  'pear  ter  fur- 
git  'em,  me  an'  Aaron  des  jog  'em  er  leetle.  What 
dem  niggers  know  'bout  freedom  *?  Um  !  what  dey 
know  'bout  slabery  yit?  Dey  got  dey  cabin  an'  dey 
pig,  dey  got  'nough  ter  eat, —  dey  happy, — 'ca'se  hit 
more  'n  heap  er  quality  white  folks  git  den.. 

■■i 

De  roses  kim  wid  de  butterflies  an'  de  autumn 
kim  wid  its  red  leabes,  but  we  hain't  hear  fum 
young  Marse  yit.  We  gits  papers  now  an'  den, 
an'  Aaron  hear  'em  talkin'  when  he  go  ter  de  sto',  an' 
dat  all  we-all  hears. 

Some  'low  hit  all  up,  an'  some  'low  hit  hain't,  an' 
dat  how  it  stan',  dough  we  lis'ens  wid  bofe  years 
open. 

De  Baby  res'less  lack  in  de  house  an'  spen'  mos' 
her  time  in  de  grabeyard.  I  let  her  'lone  fur  hit 
holp  ter  make  her  ca'm,  fur  hit  'pear  lack  ter  me, 
dat  de  lub  er  Gord  gwine  let  ole  Marse's  sperrit 
come  down  fur  ter  comfort  de  sorrerin'  chile. 

'Bout  de  time  I  t'ink  dat  Miss  Jinny  gwine  lib, 
here  come  Mammy  Dink  all  in  er  heap  an'  er  flutter. 


56  Brokenburne 

"  Bene,"  she  say,  "  we  done  git  sech  turrible  news. 
I  rid  in  cr  herry  ter  fotch  hit  I " 

"  Yas,"  I  says, —  "  I  'se  heard  bad  news  trabble  fas'. 
I  t'ink  we  got  trouble  ernough  at  dis  here  house 
douten  borryin'."  I  dun  know  how  she  stan',  an' 
I  hain't  gwine  'mit  myse'f  fust. 

"  Fur  de  lub  er  Heaben,  Bene  I "  she  say,  wid  de 
big  tears  rinnin'  down  her  face, —  fur  she  were  hu't, 
'ca'se  she  were  de  same  ter  Marse  Phil  dat  I  were  ter 
de  Baby,  —  "don'  stan'  daj  lack  er  alligater  er  some 
sech  creetur,  when  young  Marse  Phil  layin'  at  de 
pint  er  def  in  some  sort  er  Yankee  horsepittle,  an' 
dey  hain't  no  kin  er  his'n  kin  go  ter  comfort  him  I " 

"  My  Lord  !  "  I  'low,—"  my  Gord  I  " 

I  git  Mammy  Dink  inter  de  kitchen  'dout  makin' 
any  mo'  noise  'n  I  kin  holp,  an'  I  lis'ens  ter  de  story 
an'  castes  hit  'bout  in  my  min'.  Hit  were  er  mighty 
'sponsible  place  ter  put  er  po'  brack  nigger  in,  but 
dat  nigger  were  de  mudder  an'  de  farder  too,  now, 
an'  she  gotter  do  erbout. 

Miss  Jinny  don'  go  off  de  place,  an'  ef  I  hain't  tell 
her  'bout  hit  she  won't  hear  hit  twel  he  die,  ef  he  do 
die.  Ef  I  does  tell  her,  what  good  hit  gwine  do  ?  — 
hit  des  make  de  heart  bleed  de  mo',  for  hain't  dat 
promise  stan'in'  lack  de  sword  er  def  'twix'  her  an' 


Brokenburiie  57 

young  Marse  Phil  I  Ole  Marse  Phil  cain't  go,  fur 
he  des  es  holpless  es  er  baby,  an'  Mammy  Dink  say 
he  des  set  an'  cry  an'  cry.  Ole  Marse  Phil  hain't  got 
no  wife,  fur  lo !  dese  many  years  long  gone,  an'  de 
onlies'  darter  were  layin'  low  wid  er  leetle  baby. 
My  po'  Baby  hain't  got  nuffin'  ter  hinder  her,  nuffin', 
—  nuffin'  but  de  promise  I  I  t'ink  I  talk  an'  'suit  wid 
Aaron,  but  I  'members  hit  's  de  Baby's  secret,  so  I 
prays  an'  wrastles  an'  wrastles  an'  prays,  an'  makes 
Mammy  Dink  lay  low  unbeknownst. 

In  de  long  night  I  lays,  an'  I  tries  ter  put  myse'f  in 
de  Baby's  place,  so  's  ter  do  what  I  t'ink  she  want  me 
ter  do.  Bimeby,  I  dozes  off,  an'  ever'  time  I  'elude 
ter  tell  her  in  de  dream,  de  promise  riz  up  lack  er  big 
brack  cross  an'  hide  de  sunlight,  an'  de  sun  go  down 
in  darkness.     But  she  settle  hit  herse'f 

She  kim  in,  in  de  mornin',  lookin'  so  sad  lack,  in 
her  brack  dress,  wid  er  big  white  butterfly  dat  de 
fros'  done  tuck  short,  er  flutterin'  an'  er  flutterin'  on 
her  han',  but  hit  cain't  fly.  She  look  at  hit  plum 
sorrerful,  an'  try  ter  holp  hit,  but  hit  day  done  gone. 
Dar  's  er  cu'i's  sayin'  'mongst  ole  folks  'bout  dem 
white  butterflies,  young  Marse,  an'  my  min'  misgibes 
me.  'Pears  lack  I  hears  'er  call  fum  somers  es  she 
Stan'  dar,  wid  her  putty  head  bent  down,  techin'  dem 


58  Brokenbunie 

po'  wings,  when  she  say  suddent  lack,  "  Mammy,  has 
you  heared  anyt'ing  fum  Mam  Dink  lately?" 

I  drops  de  shammy  dat  I  been  polishin'  de  silber 
wid,  an'  say,  "  Lord  I  Baby,  why  ?  "  Niggers  is 
sech  cute  'ceitful  creeturs,  dey  is,  young  Marse,  dey 
cain't  holp  hit.  She  ain't  call  no  names,  but  she  say, 
"  I  knows  sumpen  done  gone  wrong  wid  him." 

Den  I  ups  an'  tells  her  all  I  knows,  an'  she  sen'  fur 
Mam  Dink. 

Mam  Dink  goes  home  nex'  day  sorter  pestered 
lack,  an'  de  Baby  hain't  say  nuffin'.  But  onct  er 
twict  I  hears  her  pleadin'  an'  prayin'  in  de  middle  er 
de  night,  but  I  hain't  no  call  fur  ter  pester  her,  'ca'se 
she  know  her  Mammy  true. 

Bimeby  Mam  Dink  kim  back, — hit  were  hard  ridin' 
fur  her  ole  bones,  fur  she  were  heap  oler  'n  me, —  an' 
fotch  er  paper  she  won't  lay  in  nobody's  ban's  but 
Miss  Jinny's. 

I  nebber  knowed  what  hit  were,  'ca'se  I  nebber 
larned  ter  read,  an'  Miss  Jinny  nebber  telled  me,  but 
I  fin's  her  wid  dat  paper  squiz  up  in  her  han',  an'  dat 
han'  were  pressin'  on  her  heart,  cole  an'  still  lack  she 
were  dead.  Mammy's  po'  Baby  I  she  'd  er  b'ared 
hit    all    fur   her   ef  she    could, —  she  'd    er   let  'em 


Brokenbiirne  59 

drawed  de  blood  outen  her  drap  by  drap,  ter  sabe 
dat   chile  I 

I  baves  her  face  twel  hit  fotch  her  to,  an'  brung  de 
wine  fur  her,  an'  when  she  drink  hit,  she  lay  de  putty 
brown  head  close  up  ter  me,  wid  de  eyes  shet  an'  de 
warter  trimblin'  on  de  long  lashes,  an'  she  say,  whis- 
perin',  "  Talk  ter  me  sof',  Mammy,  lack  I  were 
er  leetle  chile,  Mammy,  'ca'se  I  gotter  be  strong 
soon.  Mammy." 

My  Baby,  my  leetle  one,  she  ain't  got  nobody 
but  her  po'  ole  Mammy  ter  lub  her,  but  Gord  I  how 
dat  Mammy  lub  her  I 

When  she  ca'm,  she  go  down  ter  de  leetle  wicket 
gate,  an'  I  foUers,  but  she  wave  me  back,  an'  say,  "  I 
be  back  bimeby.  Mammy,  hit  all  right  I "  I  watches 
her  long  's  I  kin  see  her,  an'  I  knows  she  gwine  ter 
Farder  Lucien.  Miss  Jinny  ain't  no  Cat'lick,  ner 
none  er  her  folks  was,  but  Marse  Phil  were.  Den  I 
waits  in  de  grabeyard  fur  her;  I  alius  meets  her  dar 
ebery  ebenin'. 

She  pray  long  an'  yearnes'  ober  ole  Marse's  grabe, 
an'  dat  night  she  writ  an'  writ  mos'  all  night.  In  de 
mornin'  she  sont  fur  Aaron  an'  shet  de  do',  de  fust 
time  she  ebber  do  dat  sence  she  were  borned.  When 
he  kirn  out  he  drawed  his  sleeve  ober  his  eyes  an' 


6o  Brokenbunie 


set  an'  sniff  an'  sniff  in  de  kitchen,  'steader  gwine  ter 
work,  but  he  ain't  say  nuffin'. 

I  bides  my  time,  an'  bimeby  I  picks  hit  out'n 
Aaron, — he  cain't  keep  nuffin'  fum  me  yit, — an'  he  got 
er  ring  dat  Miss  Jinny  gib  him  ter  git  money  on, 
someway.  Po'  Baby  I  she  dun  know  no  mo'  'bout 
money  dan  er  angil  I  Hit  were  er  leetle  shiny  ring 
dat  uster  laugh  on  dem  leetle  fingers,  when  we  all 
was  happy  an'  dem  leetle  fingers  had  er  dimple  on 
ever'  leetle  j'int,  an'  I  taken  hit  fum  Aaron  an'  putten 
hit  in  my  pocket.  Po'  Baby  I  es  pure  an'  white  es  de 
lilies  in  de  New  Jerusalem  I  What  she  know  'bout 
gittin'  money  on  t'ings,  an'  who  gwine  buy  'em  ? 

While  she  sleep,  I  taken  Marse  Phil's  bag  er  gole 
an'  de  pass,  an'  lay  hit  by  her  piller.  When  she 
wake,  I  say:  "Mammy's  right  foot  burn, —  dat  mean 
er  journey  ter  go,  —  is  we  gwine  anywhar,  Baby?" 

Den  she  fin'  de  bag  er  gole  an'  break  down,  an' 
say  she  'low  erfore  ter  tell  me  but  she  cain't.  She 
ain't  ast  whar  de  gole  kim  fum ;  maybe  she  t'ink 
Gord  sont  hit,  fur  she  say,  sof  lack :  "  Mammy,  we 
gwine.  I  cain't  break  de  promise  ter  my  farder  —  we 
gwine,  but  not  Fiirginia  Balfour!" 

I  t'ink  she  waverin'  in  her  min',  but  she  tell  de 
niggers  what  ter  do,  twel  she  kim  back,  lack  er  man. 


Brokenburne  61 


I  hain't  no  call,  young  Marse,  ter  'spute  wid  sper- 
rits,  but  dar  was  sumpen  hol'in'  her  up  an'  'munin' 
wid  her  in  dem  days ;  she  go  right  'long  an'  nebber 
go  wrong,  an'  I  des  knows  now  dat  hit  were  de 
blessed   Jesus   er-leadin'  uv   her. 

Well,  yearly  one  mornin'  we  says  "  Good-by !  " 
ter  Brokenburne ;  de  Baby  pulls  her  long  veil  ober 
her  face  an'  we  was  gone.  Gone  fum  de  sunlight 
dat  hab  been,  gone  fum  de  happy  times  we  knowed, 
fur  hit  'pear  lack  de  Lord  done  furgit  His  own.  But 
He  hain't  furgit,  young  Marse,  He  hain't  furgit  one  ob 
us,  'ca'se  sometimes  He  buil'in'  de  Heabenly  King- 
dom, an'  we  des  er-watchin'  an'  honin'  fur  de  yethly, 
des  lack  Judas,  perzackly  lack  Judas, — we  wants  ter 
gib  de  Marster  er  call  ter  do  hit,  po'  worfless  humin 
creeturs  I  Cain't  see  no  furder  dan  Prince  dar,  an'  he 
stone  blin'. 

Well,  I  totes  de  money  an'  ten's  ter  de  t'ings  de 
testes'  I  kin,  'ca'se  I  don'  wanter  bodder  de  Baby,  an' 
she  looks  outen  de  winder,  an'  we  goes  er-whirlin' 
an'  er-whirlin',  but  her  heart  ain't  dar;  hit  go  furder 
an'  fas'er  dan  de  cars  kin  cairey  her. 

My  min'  misgib  me,  an'  I  steddy  de  words, — 
"  We  's  gwine.  Mammy,  but  not  Furginia  Balfour," 
an'  I  'se  feared  fur  her  min',  'ca'se  she  were  des  lack 


62  Brokenburne 


er  piece  er  ole  Miss's  chiny,  an'  I  des  gits  so  I  falls 
ter  sleep  er-prayin'  an'  I  wakes  wid  er  pra'r  des  er- 
fillin'  up  my  mouf. 

Hain't  nobody  gib  us  no  trouble,  dough  we  hatter 
wait  er  while,  sometimes,  on  de  road.  Ever'body 
look  so  pitiful  at  my  Baby  wid  her  leetle  slim  figger, 
an'  long  brack  veil,  an'  de  ole  nigger  dat  tryin'  so 
hard  fur  ter  take  keer  uv  her.  De  Souferners  des 
know  she  Soufern,  an'  de  Yanks  knows  we  got  some 
claim  on  'em  fum  de  pass.  Bofe  on  'em  ast  me 
questings,  dey  want  ter  fin'  out  sumpen;  but  de  ole 
Marse  alius  uster  'low,  "  When  you  trabbles,  keep 
your  mouf  shet;  ef  you  'se  er  fool  errer  Sol'm'n,  de 
worl'  hain't  gwine  know  de  difFerns,"  an'  I  does  hit. 

Hit  git  heap  col'er,  an'  fum  de  quick  snappy  way 
de  new  folkes  on  de  cars  talks,  I  knows  we  in  er  fur- 
rin  Ian' ;  leastways  I  hain't  ebber  been  dar  erfore. 

Den  in  de  middle  er  de  night,  de  cars  stops,  an' 
we  lan's  in  er  great  big  strange  place.  I  hain't  know 
what  ter  do,  but  de  Baby  know,  an'  I  trus'  her. 

Dey  cairey  us  ter  er  big  house  whar  dey  hain't  put 
de  lights  out  yit,  but  let  'em  burn  all  de  time,  an' 
dey  burnin'  dim,  'an  dey  shows  us  inter  er  sorter 
leetle  parlor.  Den  'pear  lack  de  Baby  git  res'less 
lack  an'  could  n'  wait,  an'   lock  dem  leetle  fingers 


Brokenhurne  63 

tergerr,  twel  I  mos'  cries,  er-lookin'  at  'em,  but  she 
ain't  say  nuffin'  yit.  Bimeby,  er  Cat'lick  Sister  kirn 
in,  an'  de  Baby  gib  her  er  letter.  "  Ah ! "  she  say, 
"  Farder  Lucien," —  she  read  on,  an'  den  she  tuck  de 
Baby's  han'  in  hern,  an'  she  smile  so  sof'  an'  sad,  an' 
she  say :  "  You  begin  your  work  in  de  mornin'." 

"  No,  now,  please  I "  say  de  Baby,  wid  her  ban's 
fol'ed  an'  dem  eyes  raise  lack  she  were  astin' 
sumpen  er  Gord. 

"  As  you  will,  den,"  say  de  Sister,  an'  she  lead  her 
out  slow  an'  tender,  lack  she  were  er  leetle  chile. 

De  Baby  done  furgit  'bout  de  po'  ole  Mammy,  an' 
de  ole  Mammy  cain't  unnerstan'  what  hit  mean. 

I  sot  an'  wait,  an'  wait,  an'  bimeby,  I  sees  de  Sister 
comin'  back.  I  'se  mos'  erfeared,  'ca'se  I  by  myse'f, 
an'  I  dun  know  nuffin'  'bout  dat  'ligion ;  I  'se  er  Bap- 
tis',  I  is,  young  Marse.  But  dat  leetle  Sister  kim 
nigh  an'  er  nigher,  'pear  lack  I  see  dat  face  erfore, 
an'  she  say,  "  Mammy  I  "  Hit  were  Miss  Jinny  ! 
Hit  were  de  Baby  I 

"  Mammy  I "  she  say,  an'  she  drap  on  her  knees  an' 
fling  her  arms  'roun'  her  ole  Mammy's  nake,  "  I 
gwine  be  true  ter  de  libin'  an'  de  dead,  an'  dey 
hain't  nobody  ter  holp  me  but  you  an'  my  Gord ! 
Pray,  Mammy,  pray  dat   I   be  able   ter  b'ar  hit, — 


64  Brokenburne 

pray  dat  de  Lord  keep  me  in  de  right,  dat  he  hain't 
turn  fum  me  altogedder  I  Pray,  pray  fur  your  chile, 
Mammy  I " 

I  hain't  know  how  I  done  hit,  an'  I  dun  know 
nuffin'  'bout  Marse  Phil,  an'  I  dun  know  nuffin'  'bout 
dat  'ligion  an'  dat  veil,  but  I  knowed  dat  heart,  an'  I 
knowed  hits  trouble  an'  hits  triberlatin',  an'  I  knowed 
hit  were  hones'  in  de  sight  er  de  Lord,  an'  I  raises  er 
pra'r  an'  prays  wid  her  twel  she  ca'm  an'  her  eyes 
shines  an'  she  jine  in  an'  pray  fur  herse'f  and  pray 
fur  Marse  Phil  an'  pray  fur  me,  twel  hit  'pear  lack  to 
me  de  gates  er  de  Heabenly  Kingdom  des  er-shinin' 
on  de  ole  brack  yeth. 

Den  she  riz  es  white  an'  es  ca'm  es  de  odder  Sis- 
ter dat  kim  in  ter  meet  her.  Den  she  say,  "  Mammy, 
I  'se  er  Sister  er  Char'ty,  I  come  ter  nuss  Philip 
Le  Grand;  I  hain't  come  es  his  promise'  wife,  I 
hain't  come  es  his  frien',  but  I  comes  in  de  name 
er  de  Lord.  Ef  de  Lord  see  fitten  fur  to  let  him 
know  my  yethly  name,  hit  '11  be  all  right;  ef  He 
hain't  see  fitten,  I  leave  hit  in  His  ban's." 

I  cain't  sleep  dat  night  fur  foUerin'  de  Baby;  she 
des  de  Baby  ter  me,  hain't  no  Sister  er  de  Po'  spite 
er  de  close,  an  I  begs  her  lemme  nuss  him,  'ca'se  she 
hain't   strong.     She    shake    her   head    an'   wave   me 


Brokenburne  65 

back,  but  I  follers.  Somehow,  we  's  seed  so  much 
dat  ever't'ing  'pear  natchel  when  hit  kim. 

She  know  des  whar  ter  go,  an'  she  lead  de  way 
inter  er  big  room,  whar  dar  were  long  rows  er  leetle 
white  beds  wid  sodgers  in  'em  woun'ed,  sick,  sufF'rin', 
dyin' ;  dey  hain't  Yanks  no  mo'  ter  me,  des  po' 
hu'ted  boys,  erway  fum  dey  mudders. 

I  des  knowed  which  were  Marse  Phil's,  an'  I  Stan's 
erpart,  an'  turn  my  back,  'ca'se  I  don'  wanter  cotch  de 
fust  look  de  Baby  gib  him.  Marse  Phil  were  mighty 
bad.  All  frough  de  long  hours  we  watches  by  him, 
me  an'  de  Baby,  wid  des  er  leetle  screen  ter  cut  us 
off  fum  de  res'  er  de  suff'rin'  an'  de  dyin'.  We  see 
him  toss  an'  turn  wid  de  fever,  an'  call  on  de  Baby's 
name,  ober  an'  ober  so  pitiful  an'  pleadin' ;  de  big 
tears  drap  on  her  tellin'  beads,  an'  I  knows  she 
prayin'.  Den  she  move  de  pillers  an'  wring  out  de 
clorfs  fur  his  head  des  lack  er  angil,  so  sweet  an' 
still;  she  won't  let  me  tech  him,  an'  I  cain't  do  nut- 
fin'  but  des  look  an'  look.  Marse  Phil  he  cain't  git 
well  wid  er  ball  in  he  head  an'  er  ball  in  he  shoulder, 
—  Cornfedrit  balls! — yit  dey  keeps  on  fightin',  kil- 
lin',  bofe  uv  'em, —  keeps  on  breakin'  hearts,  crossin' 
lub  wid  bay'nets  an'  life  wid  bullets  !  I  'se  er  Corn- 
fed,  young  Marse,  'ca'se  my  folkes  was,  but  I  dun 


66  Brokenhurne 


know  who  were  right,  an'  sometimes  when  I  look 
t'ings  in  de  face  es  dey  is,  I  'se  mos'  er-feared  dat 
bote  was  wrong. 

Well,  we  watches  by  Marse  Phil,  day  arter  day, 
an'  mos'  all  night,  wid  de  leetle  sister  er-settin'  dar, 
er-growin'  whiter  an'  whiter,  leetler  an'  leetler,  an'  I 
looks  out  on  de  snow  er-fallin',  an'  I  hears  Marse  Phil 
er-talkin'  ter  young  Marse  an'  ter  de  leetle  gal  dat 
were  his  promise'  wife,  an'  he  breave  longer  an'  ca'mer, 
lack  he  happy,  an'  smile  an'  whisper  'bout  when  he 
kim  back  fum  college.  An'  I  sees  de  roses  an'  de 
sunlight  on  de  ole  porch,  —  ole  Marse,  ole  Miss, 
young  Marse,  an'  Miss  Jinny,  all  happy,  no  war, 
no  sorrer,  no  nufRn'! 

Den  I  sees  de  doctors  an'  de  nusses  comin',  gwine, 
gwine  'douten  er  soun';  an'  de  leetle  sister  wid  her 
med'cine  an'  her  spoon,  an'  er  po'  ole  nigger  watchin' 
uv  'em.  Dat  ole  nigger  sho'  were  me,  an'  de  leetle 
sister  were  my  Baby,  an'  we  fur  'way  fum  home, 
whar  de  sun  shine;  up  'mong  de  clouds  an'  de  snow, 
in  er  Yankee  sodgers'  horsepittle.  When  Marse 
Phil  do  dat  way,  I  gits  ter  wan'erin'  myse'f,  an'  I  dun 
know  wher  I  'se  libin',  er  I  'se  dead  an'  riz. 

One  mornin'  we  fin's  de  fever  all  gone ;  hain't  no 
mo'  turnin'  an'  turnin',  an'  Marse  Phil  lay  wid  he 


Brokenhurne  67 

eyes  shet,  lack  he  dead.  De  doctors  hain't  gib  no 
mo'  med'cine.  I  dun  know  nuffin'  'bout  woun's, — 
de  woun's  dat  war  make, — an'  maybe, — hope  ergin' 
hope, — Marse  Phil  gwine  git  well.  Anyway,  I  ups 
an'  astes  de  doctor  in  de  passage. 

"  No,  auntie," —  he  say ;  —  "  on'y  Gord  kin  do 
dat." 

Dey  puts  mo'  screens  erbout,  an'  de  day  w'ar  on. 
De  sun  break  out  frough  de  clouds  an'  shine  lack 
gole  specks  on  de  white ;  de  leetle  cole  birds  kim  an' 
sot  on  de  winder-sill  an'  wait  fur  some  one  ter  feed 
'em,  but  dey  done  furgit  'em. 

De  priestes  kim,  an'  dey  do  fur  Marse  Phil  what 
dey  'ligion  tell  'em  do,  dough  Marse  Phil  ain't  know 
nufRn'  yit, — an'  we  all  kneels  down.  Bimeby,  dey 
leabe  we  all  erlone,  —  me,  Marse  Phil,  an'  de  leetle 
sister. 

Bimeby  Marse  Phil's  fingers  flutters  on  de  cover- 
lid lack  leetle  white  birds  dat  tryin'  fly  erway. 

De  leetle  sister  go  an'  kneel  by  de  bed  ter  pray. 

She  waitin'  fur  de  Lord  ter  gib  de  sign ;  an'  ef  hit 
right,  she  know  He  gwine  make  hit. 

Arter  while,  de  sunlight  kim  er-trimblin'  'cross  de 
bed,  so  bright  an'  putty,  lack  hit  huntin'  fur  er  place 
ter  res',  an'  Marse  Phil  move  an'  fling  his  arm  ober 


68  Brokenbii^rne 


his  head,  an'  say, — "Oh  I  de  pity  uv  hit, — oh!  de 
pity !  " 

De  Baby  look  at  him  so  yearnes',  lack  she  po'in' 
out  her  soul  des  lack  water.  Den  he  open  he  po' 
sunk'  eyes,  an'  de  soul  er  de  man  look  inter  de  soul 
er  de  'oman. 

"  Furginia  I  "  he  whisper. 

"  Philip  !  "  she  say,  an'  de  leetle  head  sink  an'  sink 
an'  drap  on  Marse  Phil's  breas'. 

'T  ain't  no  use  ter  say  no  mo',  fur  de  Lord  done 
make  His  sign,  an'  dey  all  done  seen  hit ;  he,  'douten 
her  tellin'  uv  him,  an'  she  know  hit  too.  Dat  one 
word, — hit  were  de  "Good-bye  I"  er  de  yeth,  an'  de 
"Howdy I"   uvetarnityl 

She  lay  him  back  wid  de  smile  er  Gord  on  de 
parted  mouf,  an'  go  out, — out  inter  de  night  dat 
comin',  out  inter  de  snow, — an'  I  hain't  no  call  ter 
foller  uv  her. 

Hit  wa'n't  my  Baby  dat  kim  back, — hit  wa'n't  my 
chile  I — hit  were  de  leetle  Char'ty  Sister ! 

Dey  sen'  Marse  Phil's  body  home,  an'  dey  bury 
him  sider  he  Maw. 

We  ain't  go,  an'  we  lets  folkes  say  what  dey 
pleases. 

Dey  sen'  de  Baby  home  too,  fur  ter  wait  er  year 


Brokenbiinu  69 

'fore  she  take  de  veil  fur  good,  so  's  ter  be  sho'  in  her 


min'. 


Soon  arter  we  kim,  Mam  Dink  kim  wid  onnudder 
paper,  an'  de  Baby  sont  one  back.  But  dey  hain't 
nobody  hear  nuffin',  'ca'se  dey  hain't  nobody  know 
nuffin'  but  me  an'  Farder  Lucien, 

But  I  hain't  nebber  git  dost  ter  de  Baby  sence  de 
day  Marse  Phil  die;  'pear  lack  sumpen  des  er-drawin' 
an'  er-drawin'  her  erway. 

De  niggers  lubs  her  yit,  but  dey  'se  'feared  uv  her 
now,  an'  ef  her  wa'n't  de  chile  I  nuss  an'  I  raise,  I  'd 
be  'feared  uv  her  myse'f  Dough  she  ain't  w'arin' 
uv  'em  now,  somehow  I  alius  sees  de  Char'ty  close, 
an'  dey  'pear  lack  grabeclose  ter  me. 

We  spen's  heap  er  times  in  de  grabeyard,  'ca'se  all 
we  's  got  dar,  'cep'in'  young  Marse,  an'  'pear  lack 
we  cain't  hear  fum  him.  Maybe  he  dead,  too,  we 
says,  an'  den  de  Baby  bow  her  head,  lack  ter  say  dat 
she  kin  b'ar  anyt'ing  dat  gwine  come  now. 

Bimeby,  Farder  Lucien  come,  an'  go  an'  talk  ter 
her,  fur  ter  see  ef  she  in  de  same  min'  yit.  De  year 
mos'  out  an'  hit  drawin'  nigh  de  time  fur  her  ter 
take  de  veil  sho'  nough,  ef  she  ain't  change  her  min'. 

She  smile  her  sof',  sorrerful  smile,  an'  say  she  ain't 
change,  dat  she  be  ready  when  de  time  kim. 


70  Brokenbiirne 

I  ain't  say  much.  I  knows  dat  she  gwine  take  de 
veil,  but  de  angils  gwine  make  dat  veil,  an'  she  gwine 
w'ar  hit  wid  er  crown.  Ef  I  wa'n't  nuffin'  but  er  po' 
ole  nigger,  maybe  I  mought  er  holp  her,  maybe  I 
mought  better  her,  but  'fore  Gord,  young  Marse, 
I  could  n',  an'  I  dun  know  who  mought  but  Gord. 
Hit  break  my  heart  fur  ter  see  her  w'arin'  ever'  day, 
shadderer  an'  shadderer,  fur  de  doctor  he  shake  he 
head  an'  say  he  cain't  retch  hit,  an'  Farder  Lucien  he 
pray  fur  de  day  er  de  cornsecratin'.  De  eend  were 
nigher  dan  dey  'spec's,  an'  I  knowed  hit. 

Hit  happin  one  night,  an'  I  wakes  fum  er  deep 
slumbrin'  ter  hear  her  call,  "Mammy!  Mammy!" 
onct  er  twict,  an'  I  riz  up  quick,  fur  I  beared 
onnudder  call,  des  es  sho'  es  Sam'l  beared  de  call  er 
de  Lord,  an'  I  lays  my  ban'  on  her  an'  say,  "  Baby, 
here  Mammy ! "  I  make  er  light  an'  she  say, 
"  Mammy,  you  is  mighty  nigh  ter  me,  you  has  been 
ever't'ing  ter  me,  ever  sence  Gord  tuck  de  odders." 
I  tells  her  dat  she  alius  er  comfort  an'  er  joy  ter  her 
Mammy,  ever  sence  she  were  borned,  an'  alius 
gwine  be. 

She  sorter  smile  fur  erway,  an'  say,  "Not  fur  long. 
Mammy,  not  fur  long !  " 

I  wanter  sen'  fur   Farder  Lucien,  fur  somebody. 


Brokenbunie  71 


but  she  ain't  want  ter  be  pestered.  She  say,  "All 
well  wid  me,  Mammy.  Guard  t'ings  when  I  gone 
lack  you  done  when  I  here,  an'  meet  my  brudder 
when  he  come.  Tell  him  we  tried  ter  wait  twel 
he  come,  but  we  could  n'." 

I  cain't  do  nuffin',  I  cain't  say  nuffin',  but  des 
cry. 

"  Po'  Phil  I "  she  say,  "  Gord  know  which  were 
right ! " 

She  wait  erwhile,  an'  den  she  say  suddent  lack, 
"  Mammy,  when  I  done  dead,  let  'em  bury  me  sider 
Philip  Le  Grand;  I  'se  done  kep'  my  promise,  hit 
won't  do  any  harm,  an'  den  we  bote  wake  at  de  same 
time  in  de  mornin'."     I  promise  hit  de  bes'  I  kin. 

"  Mammy,"  she  say,  "  ef  dey  looks  in  my  heart, 
dey  fin'  hit  broke,  dey  fin'  hit  wasted.  I  try  ter  lib 
ter  be  er  Leetle  Sister  er  de  Po',  but  I  cain't,  oh  ! 
I  cain't ! " 

I  tells  her  how  I  lub  her,  how  ever'body  lub  her, 
but  she  shake  her  head.  "  Ef  Jesus  des  lemme  in, 
Mammy,"  she  say,  "  I  be  happy  in  de  lowes'  place 
erroun'  de  throne.  I  wanter  go,  Mammy,  ter  be  wid 
Jesus,  ter  be  wid  my  fiirder,  my  mudder,  wid  Phil  I " 
I  knowed  hit  were  comin'. 

"Mammy,"  she  say  arter  while,  "talk  ter  me  lack 


72  Brokenhurne 

I  were  er  leetle  chile  ergin,  don'  stop.  Po'  ole 
Mammy  I  hoi'  me  close  twel  dey  comes  fur  me  I " 

Well,  I  gibs  her  wine,  an'  I  talks  an'  talks,  lack 
she  tell  me,  all  er-chokin',  an'  de  tears  des  er-rinnin' 
down  lack  rain. 

I  thought  I  were  hard,  I  thought  I  were  cole,  but 
I  hain't  ebber  hab  no  tribberlatin'  lack  ter  dis. 

Well,  I  tells  her  'bout  Gord,  lack  she  did  n'  know ; 
I  tells  hit  my  way,  de  way  she  were  borned  ter,  an'  I 
says  ober  de  ole  hyme  dat  she  uster  lub,  'bout  "  He 
plant  He  footsteps  in  de  sea,  an'  ride  upon  de  storm," 
an'  she  smile  'ca'se  she  lack  hit,  but  I  dun  know  what 
ter  do. 

Bimeby  de  breaf  git  sof'er  an'  sof'er,  an'  she  say, 
"Mammy,  Mammy!"  two  er  free  times,  an'  I  says, 
"  Here  Mammy,  Baby,"  ever'  time,  an'  she  squiz  my 
han'  lack  she  lub  me;  den  she  retch  out  her  arms  an' 
smile.  Hain't  fur  Mammy  dis  time,  'ca'se  I  knowed 
she  seed  'em,  'ca'se  I  knowed  she  beared  'em  call; 
'pear  lack  de  room  was  full  er  brightness  an'  de 
angils  an'  de  light  er  Gord  I  Den  I  knowed  fur  sho' 
my  Baby  were  gone,  done  gone  fum  dese  ole  arms 
fur  ebber,  done  tuck  de  veil !  Gone,  ter  sorrer  an' 
ter  triberlate  no  mo'  on  dis  here  yeth,  whar  dey  hain't 
no  war  ner  de  breakin'  er  de  hearts  I     Wid  de  promise 


Brokenbiirne  73 

kep'  an'  de  faith  unbruk ;  gone  ter  meet  ole  Marse 
an'  young  Marse  Phil !  Nuffin'  lef'  at  Brokenburne, 
but  de  house  an'  de  niggers,  de  home  an'  de  sorrer ! 

We  puts  her  ter  sleep  long  sider  young  Marse 
Phil,  wid  de  roses  an'  vi'lets  ober  'em.  I  ast  hit 
when  dey  kim  ter  me,  an'  ole  Marse  Phil  he  do 
hit,  'dout  er  word,  'ca'se  he  know  sumpen  too,  dat  I 
ain't  know  what. 

De  sun  nebber  shine  de  same  sence  den,  an'  de 
years  kim  an'  goes  lack  er  holler  horn.  Hain't  no 
mo' joy  dis  sider  dar, — dar  whar  de  Baby  sleeps. 

Young  Marse  kim  back  arter  de  war  were  ober, 
po',  woun'ed,  an'  horngry, —  mos'  all  de  sodgers  was 
horngry, —  an'  we  feeds  er  heap  es  dey  passes. 

Aaron  see  him  comin',  an'  he  rin  ter  de  bed  an'  kiver 
up  he  head;  he  des  could  n'  b'ar  hit,  an'  I  hatter  break 
hit  de  bestes'  I  could. 

He  make  me  tell  him  all  'fore  he  eat,  'fore  he  res', 
an'  he  cain't  cry,  but  he  git  whiter  an'  whiter,  an'  he 
eye  git  shinier  an'  shinier;  den  he  laugh  an'  laugh, 
an'  rin  ter  de  pianner  an'  play  t'ings  dat  make  de 
very  blood  rin  cole. 

I  don'  t'ink  as  how  he  ebber  plum  unnerstan'  hit, 
but  bimeby  he  git  ca'mer,  an'  Aaron  holp  me  git  him 


74  Brokenhiirne 

in  de  bed,  an'  we  nuss  an'  feed  him  dar  lack  he  were 
er  baby. 

My  young  Marse,  dat  lef'  so  proud,  so  gran',  so 
mannish!  When  he  git  betterer,  he  ride  erway 
suddent  lack,  'douten  er  word  errer  "Good-bye." 

He  were  gone  er  whole  year,  den  he  kim  back 
suddent  lack,  lack  he  had  n'  been  gone  more  'n  er 
day;  dat  de  way  he  been  er-doin'  ebber  sence. 

Me  an'  Aaron  rin  de  place  an'  keep  hit  comferble 
fur  him  when  he  kim,  no  matter  de  times  er  de  day 
er  night,  an'  don'  'pear  ter  take  no  notice. 

Aaron  mighty  techy  'bout  young  Marse,  an'  don' 
wanter  tell  nuffin',  he  dat  lack  ole  Marse. 

Some  folkes  says  young  Marse  crazy, —  he  hab 
ernough  ter  rin  him  crazy,  Gord  know  I  —  but  dey 
tells  what  is  lies.  Young  Marse,  lack  me  an'  Aaron, 
des  er-libin'  in  de  pas',  an'  dar  hain't  no  fjou;  fur  we- 
all! 

Brightly  the  sunlight  gleamed  upon  the  path  of 
two  early  travelers,  whose  restless  horses  were  wait- 
ing at  the  porch  steps. 

"  Good-bye,  Aunt  Bene,"  one  was  saying,  "  I  shall 
keep  this  rosebud  always  in  memory  of  you  and  of 
your  story." 


Brokenbiinie  75 

"  Good-bye,  Aunt  Bene,"  said  the  other,  "  I  thank 
you  for  your  kindness;  should  I  have  news  of  him 
in  any  way,  I  '11  certainly  let  you  know." 

Down  through  the  winding  walk  of  seeming 
dreamland,  through  the  arch  of  roses,  through  the 
gateway,  then,  reluctantly,  old  Aaron  gives  up  the 
horses. 

"Young  Marse's  gues's  mought  'bide  twel  young 
Marse  kim,"  he  complained.  '"Spec's  him  home 
mos'  any  time,  mought  be   ter-day !  " 

Being  assured  again  that  the  departure  was  neces- 
sary, though  much  to  be  regretted,  he  made  a  most 
impressive  farewell. 

The  travelers  loitered,  and  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  down  the  road,  old  Aaron  came  limping,  run- 
ning, panting,  breathless. 

"  I  furgit,  young  Marses,"  he  gasped,  "  ter  tell 
you  'bout  de  pedigree  er  dem  dorgs  an'  bosses,  but 
de  breed  er  dem  dorgs  is  powerful!" 


